


(K)inktober

by thebananahasspoken



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Aftercare, All the Smut, Anal, BDSM, Bar Fight, Bathroom Sex, Big/Little, Bitty Bones, Blood, Bondage, Breeding Kink, Cage Play, Car Sex, Collar, Costumes, Cum everywhere, Cunnilingus, Daddy Kink, Dancing, Degradation, Dirty Talk, Dominance, Double Penetration, Drinking, Dry Humping, Edging, F/M, Facial, Femdom, Fingering, Fivesome, Food Play, Foul Language, Frot, Grinding, Groping, Haphephobia, Humiliation, Jealousy, Kinktober, Kitchen Sex, Knotting, Longing, Love, Marking, Master/Slave, Mommy Kink, Monster Heat, Movie Night, Multi, Multi - Freeform, Mutual Masturbation, Office Sex, Oral, Orgy, Overstimulation, Pet Play, Polyamory, Possessiveness, Pregnancy, Public Sex, Punishment, Quickie, Roleplay, Rough Sex, Sadism, Sex Toys, Sexting, Size Difference, Sloppy Seconds, Slow Sex, Smut, So much smut, Somnophilia, Soulmates, Spanking, Spitroast, Submission, Suits, Suspension, Tattoos, Teasing, Threesome, Unprofessional Conduct, Voyeurism, WOOO, Wall Sex, blindfold, bone licking, boner, boob fixation, care, cavity inducing sweetness, dicks too, ectodick, excessive cum, fantasy play, fear kink, fuck buddies, handjob, just a metric ton of cum, scar/body worship, scary stuff, sex outside, so many skeletons, sofa sex, soft core, soft dominance, suggestive speak, terrible puns, tit fuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-08
Updated: 2017-09-09
Packaged: 2018-08-20 05:57:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 66,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8238460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebananahasspoken/pseuds/thebananahasspoken
Summary: My additions for Inktober, or, in my case, KINKTOBER.





	1. Sadism

**Author's Note:**

> Dis gon be mature, yo. Tons of sex. Tons of skeletons. Just a great deal of fuckery, my friends. No one under 18, please, as with all of my writings.
> 
> Got started late, btw. This starts at day 5.
> 
> My Tumblr, for sneak peeks, skele sins, extra content, and other shenanigans.  
> http://thebananafrappe.tumblr.com/

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 5
> 
> Papyrus puts on a show.

*Swapfell*

* * *

His hand grasped her chin, hard, bony fingers jerking it up to meet the eyes of the crowd. She flushed in humiliation, her bruised cheeks darkening further; the tear in her lip dripped scarlet droplets of blood onto the tips of his phalanges and down her throat to the collar clasped tightly at its base. Her bare breasts heaved and her arms strained, bound by coarse rope that dug deliciously into her skin. Her knees scraped against the wood of the stage, gathering splinters and sliding slightly forward from kinetic motion…

And behind her, pants around his knees and cock buried in her dripping pussy, Papyrus’ hips never stopped, the wet, demeaning sounds of sex and ardor panting against her sweat soaked neck.  
  
“look ‘em in the eye, slut… they paid good gold to see you squirm.”

His voice was a growl, sharp teeth scraping against her exposed flesh; gold metal and rusty orange magic glinted from the corner of her gaze as he fucked into her even faster. The gag in her mouth prevented much sound escaping, chafing the corners of her lips, but despite the degradation of being watched like this, despite knowing that the men in the crowd, watching her come undone, in public, to a one had their hands down their pants…

She couldn’t stop her own moans from reverberating in her throat, disgraceful arousal thrumming in her veins.

The monster screwing her senseless could hear her fervor in his position, could feel the way she tightened around his dick and how, despite his orders, her hips were rocking back into him; his hands tightened on her hip and chin both, claws digging in and drawing blood, and his teeth, sharp and wicked, clamped down on her shoulder in a quick bite of admonishment and avidity.

“filthy little _whore_ … you like this, don’t ya? you’re puttin‘ on such a good show for these pigs…”  
  
Papyrus buried himself in her with furious passion, his pelvis slamming against her bruised ass and his rib cage, bared through the parted zipper of his leather, fur lined jacket, pressed against her back and bound arms, imprinting their design on her skin.

She was quaking on her knees, eyes rolling back in her head, saliva soaking through the gag to drip from her chin; she could hear the groans from the crowd, hear the slick sounds of their pleasure at watching her be used this way, and it only sparked her lust higher.

She came the moment he ordered it, in a demanding whisper pressed to her ear; she had been wound so tightly, for nearly five minutes, that he didn’t even have to touch her clit, crying out against the wad of material in her mouth and writhing helplessly in her bonds.

She could feel his grin against her bleeding shoulder, could feel his own arousal in the throb of his cock and the fury of his motion; he released her chin and grasped her other hip the moment she finished, pounding into her with wild abandon to force his dick into her as far as it would go.

When he came, sharp nails scraping long, bloody lines down her thighs and his rough, drawling voice in her ear (”take it all, bitch… milk my fuckin’ cock…”), she orgasmed again, and he laughed out loud, derisive and mocking.

Papyrus pulled out of her and let his dark orange magic seep from her abused pussy, puddling between her spread thighs on the cheap, dirty stage, chin set on her shoulder and gaze on the furiously masturbating crowd. He palmed one of her breasts, thumb stroking over a large bite mark left from his foreplay, and slipped his other hand between her legs, sliding his fingers into her and stroking her sore walls, coaxing his cum to drip from her.

His smile was hungry but satisfied, tongue sweeping from between his jaws to lick over his fangs.

“ever seen such a thirsty little whore in your lives, gentlemen?”


	2. Hidden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sans has always been good with his hands.
> 
>  
> 
> My Tumblr, for sneak peeks, skele sins, extra content, and other shenanigans.  
> http://thebananafrappe.tumblr.com/

*Undertale*

* * *

“HUMAN! YOU SEEM UNEASY. IS THERE A PROBLEM?”

You attempted to hold still, to stop squirming in your chair and focus on eating Papyrus’ newest attempt at cooking (the rice had turned out remarkably well, despite being a little overcooked and sticky), but had very little success.

The hand buried under your skirt beneath the tabletop, rubbing you through your panties and spreading your growing wetness over the insides of your thighs, kept you from accomplishing it, the grinning, smug skeleton to your right all too happy to disrupt your thinking and civility both with his shenanigans.

“N-no, I’m okay, Papyrus. Just really, r-ah! Really enjoying dinner! I can’t sit still, it’s s-so good,” you managed to stutter out, shooting a glare at your skeletal bedmate from the side of your eyes when he pressed his fingers against your clit halfway through your explanation.

Sans, for his part, merely scooped another forkful of food into his mouth, though his smirk was hard to hide, even in his practiced ease.

“she’s right, bro… looks like you’re really getting the hang of the cooker. got it just rice, this time,” he snarked habitually, smiling lazily at his brother as the taller skeleton, expression dropping into narrow-eyed suspicion, let out a huff.

His fingers between your legs were not nearly as restful or teasing, delving under the side of your panties and sinking, to the knuckle, two fingers into your dripping pussy, drawing a warbling gasp from you that you quickly hid behind a cough, picking up your glass of water to take a quick drink.

“BROTHER, I WOULD APPRECIATE IT IF YOU KEPT YOUR PUNS AWAY FROM MY DELICIOUSLY PREPARED MEAL. I WOULD NOT BE SURPRISED IF IT IS YOUR TERRIBLE JOKES THAT ARE UPSETTING THE HUMAN!”

Sans shrugged his broad shoulders good-naturedly, winking at his younger brother while, at the same time, thrusting his fingers into you, stroking a spot inside that made you see stars and shifting his thumb to circle your clit.

“dunno ‘bout that, paps… seems like she’s enjoying herself plenty. aren’tcha babe? food’s hitting all the right spots, isn’t it?” he crooned at you, grinning at you and raising a teasing brow, and you barely resisted a full, vocal moan when he curled his fingers in your pussy, your legs quaking from his ministrations.

“O-of course! I’m barely paying attention to him, I’m e-enjoying your food so mu-aaaahhhh!” you complimented, smiling at the joy that spread across Papyrus’ face, but nearly buckled when Sans, sockets narrowing at your dismissal, shoved another finger into you, spreading you wide around his thrusting phalanges, your back shooting ramrod straight and your breath leaving you in a gasp.

He leered at your reaction, turning his gaze back to a preening Papyrus.

“see? she’s practically drooling over it. why don’t you get her some more, bro?” he suggested, easily resisting your quelling hand when you reached down to grab his wrist, trying to slow the fervid motion of his hand in your underwear, and Papyrus, struck with elation and giddiness, shot up from his chair, grabbing up your mostly empty plate and sprinting back into the kitchen to refill it.

Sans watched his brother leave the room, smiling encouragingly, until he disappeared from sight… then pounced.

He turned in his chair in a flash, his free hand cupping your thigh to spread your legs further, and thrust his fingers into you ferociously, glaring at you playfully all the while.

“not payin’ attention, huh? i disagree… cuz you look like you can’t pay attention to anything else. just had a full serving before dinner, and you’re still… _fucking_ … **_starving_** …” he growled heatedly, stroking his phalanges into your soaking wet core, and though you tried to resist, you collapsed against the backrest of your chair, one hand covering your mouth to mask your moans and the other reaching up to palm one breast.

Sans grinned voraciously at that, leaning forward to lick up the side of your neck, and rubbed faster at your clit determinedly.

“but i shouldn’t be surprised. you’re always hungry for this…” he breathed against your flesh, voice deep and rumbling, and arched his fingers inside you again, hitting your g-spot and pushing you over the edge just as Papyrus strutted back into the room.

You had to lock down on your pleasure, sitting stock still in your chair while your insides pulsed and contracted in mind-blowing pleasure; Sans, chuckling beneath his breath (he had moved back to sitting straight in his chair the moment Papyrus had reappeared), rubbed you through your orgasm, drawing it out, cruelly, as long as it would go before pulling his fingers from you.

He raised his finger bones to his mouth and licked at your juices casually as Papyrus laid your plate back in front of you. The tall skeleton let out an outraged sound when he saw this, sitting back in his chair and glaring at his older brother.

“SANS, MANNERS! YOU CAN’T DO THAT AT THE TABLE, IT’S RUDE!”

Sans shrugged, but didn’t stop, curling his glowing blue tongue around his phalanges and shooting you a look from the corners of his sockets that sent heat directly between your legs, despite your recent completion.

“can’t help it, paps… how could i, after such a good meal?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to leave a comment!


	3. Lust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Papyrus can't help himself when you move like that.
> 
> My Tumblr, for sneak peeks, skele sins, extra content, and other shenanigans.  
> http://thebananafrappe.tumblr.com/

*Underswap*

* * *

You didn’t know if it was the alcohol rushing in your veins, or the thump of the music, or how you knew just the right way to swing your hips, but in the end, the reason why didn’t matter. The strawberry daiquiri sweating between your fingers was inconsequential, the techno beat of the latest pop single immaterial… your own hands on your body, pulling teasingly at the hemline of your too tight shirt and tracing down your bare thighs, were trivial.

The only thing that mattered was the heat of his gaze on you, heavy and hot and _wanting_.

Paps had never been much of a dancer himself. When the two of you went to Muffet’s on the occasional Saturday night, an attempt by you to break up the monotony of Netflix binging, he most often stayed at the bar, nursing his Tennessee Honey and cracking jokes at the expense of both you and the other patrons.

He encouraged you to go out and dance, though, insisting that you enjoy yourself and not waste the evening on his pouty ass (”y’know me, sugar. couldn’t shake a leg myself if i ripped it off and waved it at ya. go have fun.”), and the first time the two of you had come out to the bar turned nightclub, you had wandered off to do just that, unaware of his gaze on you the entire time you were gyrating and twisting under the flashing lights.

You certainly awakened to his attentions the moment the two of you got home and he pushed you against the backside of the door, shoving your panties down around your ankles and proceeding to fuck you so hard that you had needed to call a repairman the next day to come realign the hinges on the door.

And it hadn’t been a fluke, either. The generally laid back, easy going, lazy skeleton had gotten just as riled up the second time the two of you hit the club, unable to keep his hands off you long enough to even get home (you still couldn’t look at the backseat of the car without blushing), and each subsequent visit the two of you made resulted in exactly the same circumstance, the tall monster sitting at the bar and watching you dance until he could take the movement of your body no longer and had to have his passionate, sweaty way with you as soon as possible.

You were really beginning to enjoy it, too.

You’d only been at the bar for an hour at this point, two drinks in and going strong; you’d rebuffed a few guys that had gotten a little too brave, knowing if they pushed it that not only could your boyfriend handle it, but the rest of your monster friends as well, and were barely getting into the swing of things.

Papyrus, on the other hand, looked like a monster starved, as though you’d been teasing him for hours; one hand was clenched into a fist around his long empty drink, the other balled up on his thigh, occasionally twitching towards the pronounced bulge in his pants.

His gaze was lidded (not unusual for him, given his general aura of lackadaisy), but not with ease, instead layered with dark and hungry carnality, his jaw clenched into a tight, greedy grin; sparks of tangerine orange danced in his narrowed sockets, lighting his shadowed face with flashes of mysticism.

You’d never felt so sexy, so tantalizing, as when he watched you dance, _knowing_ he wanted you so badly.

Flushing in excitement and whimsey, encouraged by your skeletal boyfriend’s desire and the frozen drink thrumming in your blood, you threw back the rest of your drink, set it on the bar in front of the spider monster that ran the nightclub, and strutted onto the dance floor, putting on a real show for Papyrus.

If he wanted to just sit there and watch, you might as well make it worth his while.

You spun yourself among the other dancers, swaying in time to the beat and throwing your body into undulations that a sober you would never have been brave enough to chance in public; you touched yourself as you danced, dragging your hands over your stomach and thighs and neck alluringly.

When the base in the song dropped, loud whoops coming from the drunken crowd, you looked over to the rabid looking skeleton at the end of the bar, locked eyes with him, and chanced something you’d never done before; you traced one hand up to your lips, dipping your fingers past them to taste your fingertips, and smoothed your other hand down your front to cup yourself, pulling your short skirt tight and baring even more of your thighs.

Your behavior earned you a whistle from someone in the crowd who noticed you, though most of the other patrons were lost in their grinding and erotic oscillations, and a look of blank shock from Papyrus, a flush of dark orange crossing his cheekbones.

The surprise disappeared as quickly as you did from the dance floor, though, hard, bony hands seizing you by the waist and pulling you between layers of reality and darkness.

Your back met the cold tile wall of the men’s bathroom the next moment, your breath leaving you in an excited gasp; your monster lover flicked a distracted hand at the door, locking it as a precaution, and then was all over your, hands fumbling with the hem of your shirt and hips pressing yours back into the wall, teeth scraping against your neck and panting heatedly into your flesh.

“stars save me, you’re too fucking hot sometimes… and you know it, you damn tease,” he growled beneath his breath, pushing your shirt up over your breasts and licking the length of your neck sloppily; it was all you could do not to melt under the pressure of his hands, sliding to grasp at your hips, or the steaming quality of his desirous voice, his words sending tremors of need straight between your legs.

You grasped at his shoulders as he bucked his hips into you, fingers fisting into the soft material of his orange hoodie, and turned your head to press quick, encouraging kisses to the side of his skull, whimpering under your breath when he released you to flip your skirt up higher, feeling for the lining of your panties desperately so he could pull them off of you.

He froze in place when he found nothing, drawing back to stare at you with wide sockets, his hunger only growing at the realization of your state.

You grinned at him impishly, rolling your hips against the leg he had slid between yours to keep you against the wall.

“Figured I’d cut out the middle man, since we were going out “dancing” tonight,” you crooned at him, leaning forward and licking up the ridged surface of his cervical vertebrae, and against your chest, the hungry growl rumbling behind Papyrus’ ribs became a starved snarl, his hands sliding down your ass to grip the backs of your thighs.

He scooped you straight off the ground and slammed you back against the wall, jostling a squeaky, excited exhalation from you; he scrambled to undo his pants quickly, _needing_ to be one with you, and slid himself into you the moment his cock was free of his zipper, letting out a ragged moan as his pelvis met yours.

He met your eyes heatedly, grinning rabidly.

“you won’t hear me complaining, sugar… long as i get to hear _you_ scream.”

He wasted no time on adjustment or sensuality, immediately pulling out and pounding back into you to the hilt; he set up a frenzied pace, face burying in your shoulder and hands keeping your thighs spread wide around his thrusting hips, letting out needy grunts of pleasure into your skin.

You were far more vocal, wrapping your arms around his neck and filling the tiled room with your cries of passion, the wet slap of his bones meeting your skin drowned in the thump of the music from the main floor.

Your tryst didn’t last long, the both of you already worked up and desperate for your ends; you came within seconds of each other, panting and clinging and trading saliva smeared kisses as you came down from your dual high.

Breath still heavy and layered with lust, you pulled away from Papyrus’ bony lips and laid your forehead against his, grinning at him and stroking one of his sweat streaked cheekbones as you panted for breath. You liked dancing, and the freedom of letting out your stresses on the floor… but you liked doing this, turning him into an animal focused on sex, more.

The sated, weary skeleton grinned back at you, nuzzling the ridge of his nasal cavity against your nose sweetly… but then his smirk sharpened, his cock, still buried in you, twitching and sinking further into you, strangely still present despite the cum you could feel dripping from you to the floor.

He chuckled when you looked up at him curiously, his magic glowing in his sockets and his hands tightening on your thighs.

“oh, did you think we were done? heh… not by a long shot, sugar. you started this… and i’m gonna finish it. over. and over. and over.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to leave a comment!


	4. Rock Hard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sans throws you a bone.
> 
> My Tumblr, for sneak peeks, skele sins, extra content, and other shenanigans.  
> http://thebananafrappe.tumblr.com/

*Undertale*

* * *

Sans’ hand on your thigh, gripping and smoothing over the bare skin there, distracted you from the movie yet again, removing you from the immersion of the world of orcs, elves, and men.  
  
You looked over at him from the corner of your eye, watching the ambient light from the tv screen washing over his averted profile. He looked haggard, a bead of sweat dripping from the dome of his skull to streak down his jawline; his jaw was clenched as well, and his breaths, usually deep and even, were panting from him, through his nasal cavity.

You’d have been alarmed, worried that he was sad or in pain, if not for the slightly glowing bulge in the crotch of his shorts, the hand not tracing its fingertips up your thigh occasionally shifting to adjust his arousal (or, more likely, to further stimulate himself).

You rolled your eyes, smirking at the side of the skeleton monster’s face and turning your attention back to the screen, watching as a wave of orcs crashed against the wall of a fortress.  
  
Sans was the most laid back, relaxed person you knew, and one of the best, funniest friends you had. He always knew what to say to make you laugh, feel better, or even inform you on most subjects, and the fall from friends to lovers had been easy, effortless even. It was only when you were in his bed, though, assuaging lust and passion together, that you had discovered a side of him that he was extremely good at hiding.

He was a horn dog.

You’d laughed when he told you that it would be an off day if the two of you only had sex twice. You’d assumed he was exaggerating when he said that he’d have you anywhere he could, as many times as he could manage (which was a surprising amount; he had incredible stamina, despite his laziness).

He had not only made good on his warnings, but more, so much so that, three months into the relationship, you’d officially, last week, had more sex with him than you’d had in the rest of your entire life. And the trend didn’t seem to be stopping anytime soon. Not that you were complaining… he was a fantastic lover, conscientious and giving and always ready to try new things.

You simply found it amusing, within, how horny a creature that you had once assumed wasn’t even interested in intimacy could be.

You stifled a giggle when the hand on your leg slid higher, sliding its fingertips to stroke along the soft flesh of your inner thigh, looking over at him again; he was glancing at you as well, this time, heat and intent in his lambent gaze.

You grinned at him goofily, scooting closer to him on the couch slowly, so as to avoid disturbing Papyrus, who was engrossed in what was happening on screen, and set your head on his bony shoulder, placing one of your hands on his closest femur teasingly.

“Something on your mind, bone boy?” you whispered, and against your shoulder, you felt his breath catch in his chest, sharpening into the roughness of a growl. His hand caught yours in its grip, dragging your hand over to where he wanted it most and clenching your fingers around his erection.

“just you, and how much i wanna fuck you into the couch right now,” he murmured, sending a glance at his occupied brother before moving your hand over his arousal, his grin sharpening with desire and excitement; you let out a small squeak, hidden by the clash of swords, at the discovery of just how hard he was, thick and throbbing against your palm.

He must have been thinking of that for some time, turning himself on and teasing himself to distraction. He was going to be in quite a state by the time the movie ended… you wouldn’t be getting to sleep anytime soon.

Might as well make it worse…

Laughing beneath your breath at the slightly flushed, eager monster, you tugged your hand from his grip (his smile faltered, disappointment shadowing his gaze), but only so you could pull the blanket off the back of the couch, throwing it across both of your laps.

You winked at his surprised, titillated look, feeling for the elastic band of his shorts from beneath the thick blanket.

“Why don’t I help you out with that?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to leave a comment!


	5. Bondage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sans wants to try something new.
> 
> My Tumblr, for sneak peeks, skele sins, extra content, and other shenanigans.  
> http://thebananafrappe.tumblr.com/

*Underfell*

* * *

Sans was very, _very_ fond of his handcuffs.

They were his favorite item to use on you, when the two of you went to bed and he was feeling particularly aggressive. He was fully capable of holding you down effortlessly, his size and strength more than sufficient to dominate you… but he liked the look of the metal against your skin, he said (and reiterated often, tracing the restraints with a sharp claw and a hungry look), and had other uses for his hands than as shackles.

The handcuffs were the good kind, thick, heavy, and needing a real key to be reopened, and every time he pulled them out, along with various other miscellanea, you knew you were going to be in for a very, very good time.

Or, at the very least, would be up all night, making new dents in the wall with the headboard of his bed.

It was an easy matter to say that Sans was a dominant monster, enjoying exerting power over you and working your body to his whim and pleasure; he exhibited his robust, rough personality in almost everything he did, not in the least restrained to his dictating presence in the bedroom.

He was always in control, always at the top of his game.

Which only made seeing him on his back, sweating and panting and nearly begging, with his favorite cuffs locked around his wrists, all the more satisfying.

He strained against the metal and tried to reach for you for the hundredth time, wanting to dig his claws into your waist, your hair (you both knew he could break those cuffs if he wanted to, and you were surprised by his restraint thus far in not doing so); he arched his spine and bucked his hips desperately, trying to force you to move faster, harder, closer. You allowed none of those things, though, grinning down at his shuddering, overstimulated form from your place on top of him, riding him slowly and lazily.

His scarlet tongue flicked from between his fangs to catch a trail of drool that had escaped him, exhaling around another ragged moan; even without seeing his sockets, hidden behind a blindfold at his own request (“let’s try somethin’ a little different t’night, sweetheart…”), you could tell he was getting frustrated with his lack of power, unable to make you move just how he wanted for the first time.

You had never felt this powerful… or this sexy.

“Gods, baby, I love seeing you like this… so helpless…” you crooned to your lover, rolling your hips and sinking yourself further onto his thick, incredibly hard cock (you’d been playing with him for nearly an hour, working him up to dangerous levels), and Sans growled beneath his breath, though there was no heat to it, somehow sounding submissive.

“i-i… damnit, i didn’t think you’d be so fuckin’ good at this… _fuck_ , sugar… ride my fuckin’ cock, i need ya… _shit_ …” he murmured in his deep, resounding voice, the tremulous edge of a whimper clinging to his words, and you reached down to stroke your fingers over his sharp jawline, soft and gentle… before grabbing his cervical vertebrae in a firm hand, exerting dominance.

“You don’t tell me what to do, bitch. You want something, you _beg_ ,” you snarled at him, a surge of danger and excitement rushing through your blood (you’d never said anything like that to him, usually on the receiving end of his sexual deviances), and though the skeleton monster held beneath you tried to hold it back, clearly resisting, he let out a strangled gasp, his cheekbones flushing further and his breath stuttering.

“ _stars_ … i’m sorry, i-i… please… _please_ fuck me… fuck me, use me, _anything_ , **_please_** …” he begged shakily, surprise and shocked titillation carried on his docile tone, and within you, his cock throbbed, obviously even further turned on. At that, your restraint and playfulness snapped, lust and reciprocation overcoming you.

Much as you liked teasing him, hearing his desperation reminded you of your own, the heat you’d been building between the two of you singing in your veins and sinking into your abdomen to dismiss all restraint with wild abandon.

You fumbled with the scrap of cloth over his sockets as you rocked yourself onto your monster boyfriend’s dick, throwing your head back when his thickness stretched and pressed in all the right places deliciously; your slickness coated him and eased your motion, sending sloppy, wet sounds through the room as you fucked yourself down onto him.

Sans’ gaze met yours the moment his blindfold fell away, his breath hitching in his throat as he watched you come undone on top of him; his moans were already loud and shaky, pent up by your endless teasing, but only grew in volume and frequency upon seeing your loss of restraint.

“ _shit_ , darlin’… fuck, you’re so sexy right now… y-yeah, c’mon… please, _please_ , so damn close,” he encouraged haltingly, shifting his feet on the top of the mattress so he could thrust up into you, incapable of waiting any longer, and, crying out with each sharp motion of he made, you sank a hand between your legs, rubbing yourself into climax while clinging to his ribs with the other.

He tipped over the edge when he felt you clench around him, arching up in twitching undulations and emptying hot, thick magic into you, accentuated with a long, gratified groan of completion; you nearly came again just from hearing that, collapsing onto his chest bonelessly and spasming through your afterglow.

You spent a long moment lying together in fulfilled pleasure, your breath mixing with his and your heartbeat settling, before you reached for the key set on the bedside table, your hands shaking as you released him from the handcuffs. As soon as his hands were free, they were curled in your hair, his boney lips descending on yours and kissing you tenderly.

“ya did so good, sweetheart… hot _damn_ , did you do good,” Sans muttered against your mouth, dragging his tongue against the tip of yours… then rolled the both of you over, his still present, twitching cock shifting inside you, a gush of glowing red magic leaking from you to stain your bedsheets.

The handcuffs clicked around your wrists, over your head and tied around one of the bars of the headboard; he grinned down at you through the darkness, lust spiking in his gaze and touch both.

“now it’s my turn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to leave a comment!


	6. Bounce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> G has something on his mind.
> 
> G!Sans belongs to borurou, on Tumblr.
> 
> My Tumblr, for sneak peeks, skele sins, extra content, and other shenanigans.  
> http://thebananafrappe.tumblr.com/

*G!Sans*

* * *

You really did have some bangin’ ass tits.

G sat back further in the folding metal chair, propping his boots on the back of the one directly in front of him, and folded his hands behind his head, pretending to be napping (like he had said he was going to, tired from hours of practice) but, in actuality, watching you fiddling with the settings on your amp, bent at the waist and silhouetted against one of the stage lights.

Your tank top did nothing to restrain your breasts, full and round and settled on the neck of your bass as you turned knobs and flicked switched and pushed in cords firmly; it must be pretty cold in the room, too, because your nipples stood against the fabric, hard and incredibly distracting.

Stars, he loved your boobs. Would give anything to have them in his hands, soft but firm, and bouncing with the motion of his cock thrusting into you.

G shifted in his chair again, his pants just that much tighter.

He didn’t know why he’d started paying so much attention to you lately. You’d been band mates for years, and occasional lovers spread out during that time, but he’d always been able to focus on the music, separating lust from business, his two favorite passions restrained to their own hours.

The past months had been hell, though. You’d been on his mind a _lot_ , consuming his dreams and drawing his attention from his practicing. He’d get distracted while playing, gaze drawn to the way you caressed the strings on your instrument, the way you moved your hips... the way your magnificent breasts moved with your passionate movements. He’d slip up in the middle of shows, his mind focusing on the sweat dripping from your collarbones rather than the notes he needed to be playing.

It might have something to do with the fact that you’d been seeing someone else lately, your attention to him waning.

He’d always been stupid and, admittedly, selfish like that, not realizing how much he needed something until it was already out of his reach. You’d always been right there, willing to satiate both of your lusts when the mood struck him... until you weren’t, until you decided you needed more than a fuck buddy.

He wanted to say he’d have been willing to be that little bit more back then. He wanted to say he’d have given you the stability that you had obviously been looking for. He knew better, though. He knew he’d needed the hard slap to the face that had been seeing you with that... that fucking human.

Didn’t mean that he didn’t regret missing the chance... didn’t mean he wasn’t still beating himself up for not seeing past his own wants. He wanted another chance, to show you that he was ready to be more than the guy that you slept with when you were lonely, or having a bad week, or just too turned on to want anything else.

He didn’t know if that day would ever come, though. You humans clung so ferociously to your relationships, even if they were obviously not right (that man didn’t treat you how you deserved, even he could see that)... for all he knew, the two of you were planning on getting married.

G flinched at that thought, letting out a frustrated groan and scrubbing at his sockets with his knuckles, then stood abruptly from his chair, nearly knocking it over.

The rest of the band looked up at him, either from the stage or the other metal chairs, but he ignored them, feeling the weight of your eyes on him as he stalked from the practice room to the bathroom, slamming the door behind himself.

He leaned over the sink, looking down into the stained bowl with blank, empty sockets. This couldn’t go on, he was going insane... maybe he should think about transferring to another band. Not that it would help. He’d still see you everywhere, still long for the touch of your hand on his bones and still breathe in the perfume of your scent when you had been gone for hours, days... forever.

Stars... what was he going to do?

 

* * *

 

 

You watched the tall, scowling guitarist shoulder his way out of the room, his heavy boots creaking on the old floorboards before a door down the hallway slammed, separating the two of you even further.

You let out a sigh, dropping your head into your chest and sadly plucking one of the strings on your bass, before pulling the strap of it over your head and setting the instrument on top of your amp.

G just hadn’t been the same since you had started dating Greg, strangely morose and quiet and distant from you. You knew the two of you had had an arrangement, finding comfort and pleasure in each other’s bodies when the mood struck, but your mother’s chiding about stability and a regular relationship had dug into your brain too far, and you’d accepted a date from the businessman in an attempt to try it out, see if it fit.

It didn’t.

Greg was _boring_ , and routine, and honestly, as clean cut and snazzy as suits were... you missed the feeling of leather and torn denim and bone under your fingers. You’d broken up with the man over a month ago, and had tried to reconnect with G, hopeful of picking up where you’d left off, but he’d kept a disconcerting, cold distance between the two of you, friendly in public but disappearing as soon as the two of you were alone together.

This wasn’t the first time he’d stormed from the room, since you’d dated Greg... and you had a sinking feeling that it was because of you, _again_. You’d better handle this, get him to talk to you.

You hopped down from the stage, avoiding the eyes of the other band members, and walked down the hallway to the closed door of the bathroom, hesitating and dithering before knocking at the doorframe.

“what?” he snapped from within, clearly in a mood, and though you wanted nothing more than to give him the space he clearly wanted, you firmed your back and spoke.

“G... look, can I come in? We should probably... talk,” you said quietly, and there was a long silence, so long that you started to think that he’d just teleported away, before the lock clicked on the door.

“sure, whatever. if it’ll make you feel better,” he replied at last, his voice muffled and hard, and you flinched at that, but let yourself into the room anyway, spying him standing next to the sink, his face in one hand and his other inserted in the pocket of his pants.

You swallowed heavily, shutting the door behind yourself, then stilled, your fingers tangling together behind your back.

“...are you alright? I... I’m worried about you,” you muttered, searching what you could see of his face from behind his large hand, and he scoffed below his breath, his shoulders stiffening.

“just peachy, thanks. if that’s all...?” he replied tonelessly, turning away, and you let out an exasperated sigh, throwing your hands up.

“There you go again! You’re obviously not okay, G, you’ve been avoiding me for months! Did... did me seeing Greg really bother you that much? Because...” you began, shuffling a step closer to him, but jumped slightly, startled, when he slammed his hand down on the surface of the sink next to him, his sockets rising to level a glare at you.

“what do you fucking think? we had a good thing goin’, and suddenly you’re hanging off the arm of a damn suit? you could have told me you wanted something like that, i could have... what the fuck ever. doesn’t matter, you got what you want now, so just leave me alone.”

There was pain, and longing, behind his anger, and your heart jolted, your mouth dropping open. How long had he been holding on to that? God, you needed to actually talk more, he thought you were still dating Greg.

He looked shocked and a little offended when you let out a laugh, his scowl sharpening and his magic, gold and dangerous, sparking in his sockets, but you waved a quelling hand at him, smiling softly and taking another step towards him.

“G... I dumped Greg a month ago. I tried to tell you, to, you know... get back to where we were before, but it was pretty damn hard, with you running from every room I was in. I thought that you just weren’t interested anymore. ...I missed you, though.”

He stared at you, once you finished talking, blank and emotionless; your heart sank, worried that you had read him wrong, concerned that he really had lost interest... before you hands were on your bare waist, pulling and turning you to press you back against the edge of the sink.  
  
His bony lips were on yours before you could draw a shocked breath, hard and insistent and desperate; his hands wandered, stroking your skin and clutching at your curves as he stole your attention and breath and concern away in passionate embrace.

He kissed you relatively senseless, tongue manifesting after a moment to thrust past your lips and play along the edge of yours, and, unsurprisingly (they had always been his favorite), his hands rising to grope at your breasts; you pulled away from him after what had surely been at least five minutes, breathing heavily and flushing bright red.

You looked up at the slightly flushed monster, stroking a hand down the cracks in his cheekbones; he shuddered, sockets lidding and hands clenching around your breasts. He sucking in a breath through his nasal cavity, swallowing heavily, before gazing into your eyes.

“sorry i was such a bonehead ‘bout this. just thought... don’t matter what i thought. i’ll make it up to you; i’ll take you out somewhere tonight. just us... we can talk, learn a bit ‘bout each other.”

You shrugged, supremely unconcerned about later plans at the moment. You hadn’t gotten laid in almost six months, never having slept with Greg, and kind of needed the friction he had been building between the two of you.

“Sure. We’ll grab dinner, catch a movie or something. But, uhm... do you think we could, ahh... keep going?”

He caught the intent behind your question, and grinned so widely that you immediately knew he’d been thinking the exact same thing, spinning you in his grasp to bend you over the edge of the sink.

He reached around you to jerk your top up, baring your breasts; his sockets, lit with bright gold fire, lingered on them through the cracked mirror, hands smoothing over them slowly, tenderly, before thrusting himself against your arched backside, snickering as your breasts bounced in the reflected image.

His expression, through the mirror, was hungry, and his hands squeezed at your breasts one last time before disappearing behind you to unbuckle his belt.

“like you even need to ask.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to leave a comment!


	7. Transportation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sans takes you for a ride.
> 
> My Tumblr, for sneak peeks, skele sins, extra content, and other shenanigans.  
> http://thebananafrappe.tumblr.com/
> 
> Also, my fanart page, with all the things that people have made for my stories!  
> http://fanartcenteral.tumblr.com/

*Mobtale*

* * *

You didn’t know how this always happened.

You’d start the business day with every intent to spend the whole of it professionally. You went to your law practice, opened up for business, and generally went down to court at around noon, to represent your clients in their cases. The fact that most, if not all, of your clients were mobsters these days made the fight a little tougher, but you were largely victorious in keeping the crooks and hitmen from behind bars.

You didn’t remember how you’d gotten sucked into being the local gang’s on call lawyer. It might have been a few too many drinks on your part, while talking to someone more dangerous than you’d have ever guessed, at a monster bar on one of your few days off. It might have been his card somehow ending up on top of your desk, or how well he promised to pay for your services to the mob.

Maybe business had been slow. Maybe money had been tight. Whatever had started it, this was where you found yourself now, with little to no scruples over what you did. It wasn’t a crime to represent the monsters, or to keep them out of more trouble with the law than they had already got themselves into.

Nevertheless, you would spend most of the day at the courthouse, talking the judge down on the podium and crossing swords (all but literally) with other lawyers on the court floor. After a particularly hard case, sometimes you would see the boss himself, and the magnanimous, perpetually grinning skeleton monster would insist on driving you back to your office in his towncar.

His intent was never innocent, which you understood the moment you took his hand as he helped you into the backseat of the large, dark-windowed luxury vehicle; yours would begin that way, at least, your eyes on your lap and your voice quavering as you answered his languid questions or told him the details of an upcoming case.

It always, always ended up like this, though. He would overpower your senses, with his charming grin and rough, low voice and commanding tone, the heavy scent of magic and cologne and whiskey in the air… and your panties would hit the floor faster than you could blink.

You didn’t know how it always happened… but it did, and had put you here, in the seat across from him in the back of his car, your fingers buried in your own pussy and his magical gaze following every one of your motions with rabid fascination.

He loved to do this to you, directing you in your lewd deviances with clear pleasure on his skeletal face and in his deep voice; some days he liked to watch, some days he made you watch him. And some days… some days, you climbed out of the back of his car, in front of your office, with your legs shaking so hard that you barely noticed the drips of glowing blue cum trailing down your thighs.

Today was looking like an all of the above day, as he stroked one hand along his cock through the parted zipper of his fancy suit pants, watching you finger yourself with a smirk of obvious gratification on his mouth.

“switch hands, and suck your juices off those sexy little fingers,” he ordered, the rumble of a snarl on his pointed words, and you didn’t dare disobey, pulling your hand from between your legs to lap at your own wetness, spreading yourself and showing him how dripping you were for him with your other hand.

You should have been ashamed at this display, how low you had descended; you had a master’s degree in law, for fuck’s sake, you shouldn’t be doing this, acting like a lewd little trollop that could think of nothing but getting off.

It was hard to think of anything else when he started making those suggestive comments, though (”was wonderin’ the whole time during the trial… what kind of panties are you wearin’ today? hope it’s my favorite… _none_.”), when he stroked his hand along the length of your thigh or leaned forward to nip at your neck.

He was so powerful, so bewitching and dangerous… as evidenced by the growl that escaped him when you obeyed him, his hand tightening around his glowing blue dick at your display.

“that’s it… fuck yourself for me. get that gorgeous little pussy ready for me,” he encouraged, his tongue extending to lick along his teeth hungrily, and you couldn’t help but moan at his lust filled words, plunging your fingers into yourself and arching against the back of the car seat.

He chuckled when you gasped breathily at the stimulation and motion of the moving car both, sharp canines bared in his satisfied grin.

“always so eager. were you thinkin’ of me today, doll? hopin’ i’d stop by to… give you a ride?” he insinuated, wagging a brow at his turn of phrase, and you groaned around a twitch of pleasure, rubbing at your clit and smearing your arousal over your spread lips.

“You already know the answer to that, Sans,” you panted, and his grin only sharpened, satisfaction and pride in his gaze as he palmed his erection.

“damn right i do. still like ta hear it from your pretty lips… almost as much as i like seein’ em wrapped around my cock,” he grunted, tone dark and wanting, and raised his free hand to beckon to you.

“now why don’t ya bring that fine ass over here and have a seat?”

It was difficult to reposition yourself in the moving car, stumbling slightly when the driver hit a bump (Sans caught you when you nearly fell, hands gentle despite his rough demeanor), but eventually you made it to his seat, straddling his lap to rub the wet expanse of your panties against the turgid, thick head of his cock, your skirt hiked up around your hips.

He ground up against you, hands tracing the outline of your body, groping at your breasts and clutching your ass to press you closer to him; your hands clenched on his shoulders, your body swaying under the motion of the car and his undulations both.

He wasted little time, beyond arching up to press a toothy, possessive kiss to your neck (your head swam, your breath heavy and cheeks flushing), to get straight to business; he dragged your panties to the side and thrust against your dripping folds, laughing beneath his breath when you gasped.

“y’know, for a lawyer… there is a distinct lack of argument when i take ya to the bench,” he snarked, licking your throat and squeezing your ass, rocking you against him deliberately, and you laughed weakly, leaning your forehead against the back of the seat and shifting your hips to align his dick with your eager core.

“You’re terrible, you know that?” you sighed shakily, and he chuckled before using his grip on your posterior to push you down on him to the hilt, grinning at your warbling, throaty cry of pleasure at the stretch of his girth entering you.

“you won’t be sayin’ that for long,” he muttered against your neck, breathing steamily against you, before setting up a bruising pace, his hips pistoning up into you with purpose and force. You choked on your breath as he ravaged you, clinging to his suit coat and keening plaintively as he sank into your pussy over and over, infinitely glad that he had that automatic window that raised between the front and back seat of his car.

You were pretty sure it wasn’t soundproof, but that mattered to you little at the moment, the mobster currently fucking you into oblivion taking up all of your concentration and thoughts.

Let the driver hear. You needed this.

Sans pounded himself into you all the way across town, alternating between lifting you on and off of his cock physically (he was surprisingly strong, which only turned you on more) and having you ride him, holding out on his end until the moment that his driver pulled up in front of your office building.  
  
The moment the car’s brakes hit, he smirked widely, clutching at your circling hips (he’d been sitting back on the seat for almost five minutes, hands behind his head, letting you do all the work), and slammed himself deep into you, his pubis pressing against your entrance.

“looks like the ride’s over, sweetheart… time for your payment,” he growled, one hand curling into your hair to tug your head down, ear against his mouth, and gave two short, deep thrusts before filling you, his other hand rubbing its thumb over your clit to coax another orgasm from you.

The reverberations of his moans against your ear, the heat of his cum spilling into you, and his finger on you sent you over the edge, spasming in the skeleton monster’s lap yet again (had five not been enough for him?), and once both of your passions settled, the two of you panted in each other’s arms, laying spread on the seat of the towncar, until you shifted, pulling his still hard cock from your body with a shudder and a quiet groan.

Sans smirked up at you lazily, sated and smug; he reached out and pulled your panties back into place for you, laughing to himself at the way you shivered and the blue stain that instantly spread across them, and you glared at him, pulling your skirt back into place and gathering your briefcase into your arms.

He merely huffed at your glower, arching a brow and tucking himself back into his pants at his leisure; his grin was knowing, and when you made to exit the car, your cheeks flushed and hair mussed from your fooling around, he cleared his throat, making you turn back to look at him.

“good meetin’. think i’ll set another one up next week… might have some contracts for ya to look over. gotta keep my assets in hand, after all,” he punned, reaching out to smack your ass and laughing at his own joke, before fixing you with a heated, hungry look, your already sore pussy clenching at the sight despite your completely glutted libido.

“that, and i’ve been dyin’ to fuck you on your desk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to leave a comment!


	8. Jealousy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sans is acting strangely.
> 
> Sorry it was late, guys T-T My internet went out on me yesterday. You'll get yesterday's and today's stories today, though.
> 
> My Tumblr, for sneak peeks, skele sins, extra content, and other shenanigans.  
> http://thebananafrappe.tumblr.com/  
>    
> My fanart blog, showing off all the gorgeous pieces that you, the wonderful readers, have shown me.  
> http://fanartcenteral.tumblr.com/

*Underswap*

* * *

Sans tapped his fingers on his desktop, staring at his action figures (battle figures, as he corrected you on often) and scowling. He’d been doing that for almost half an hour now, uncharacteristically silent and morose. You’d looked up at him several times per minute, from your position on his bed, in curiosity and worry, but he’d paid no attention to you so far.

You were really starting to be concerned.

Blueberry, as you affectionately called him, was a perpetually good-humored, rambunctious, and energetic individual, enthusiastic about nearly everything and filled with so much vigor for life that he often left you breathless (something that he was talented at doing in… _other_ situations as well). He was sometimes loud, always smiling and starry-eyed, and the finest taco chef this side of the Rio Grande.

Seeing him like this was almost… disturbing.

When he let out a frustrated sigh, his fist clenching at his side yet again, you finally had enough, setting your book on his bedside table and rising from the bed to walk carefully over to him, wrapping your arms around his waist and setting your chin on his shoulder.

“Blue… what’s going on, sweetheart? You look upset. Is something bothering you?” you whispered, and in your arms, the small-statured skeleton stiffened for a moment, his shoulders hunching (you were slightly alarmed; he had never acted like that before…), before he turned in your grasp and hugged you tightly, arms winding around your waist and face burying in your shoulder.

His breathing was heavy, gusting his quick, hot exhalations through your shirt, and he clung to you almost desperately, bones pressing at you from under his casual clothes (his battle body hung in the closet, ready for his duties the next day). You rubbed at his shoulder blades in idle motion while he composed himself, and flushed slightly when his skeletal hands loosened on you to pluck at the hem of your shirt, sliding underneath to smooth over your lower back.

“Can… can we just go to bed? I don’t really wanna talk about it…” he murmured against you, nuzzling into your partially bared collarbone and pulling you closer to him, and though you wanted to insist, brows furrowing at his avoidance (he was _always_ straightforward… what was going on?), you nodded instead.

“Sure, baby… let’s go to bed,” you acquiesced, and took one of his hands from under your clothes to pull him towards the already rumpled bed, smiling at his shuttered, darkened expression. He pulled back, though, when you made to tug him to the edge of it, his sockets narrowed and his mouth lowered in a tight line of discomfort.

You were about to ask after his troubles again, sick worry eating at your insides, before he glanced up at you, the normally bright, intensely blue lights in his sockets nearly extinguished.

“I want… take off your clothes. Please,” he urged, sounding strained and rushed, and though you hesitated, you smiled at him, immediately shucking off your pajama pants, the material puddling on the floor at the foot of the bed. Your shirt followed quickly, as well as your panties, and you sat yourself on the edge of his bed, holding your arms out to the slightly trembling, ravenous looking monster.

“Your turn, sugar skull,” you encouraged when he had stepped forward into your embrace, his hands smoothing over your bare shoulders and neck, and nearly flinched when he let out a long, low growl, uncharacteristically aggressive.

“No. Get on the bed, on… on your hands and knees. …if you want,” he commanded, though he faltered in the hardness of his demands (there was your precious Blueberry), and though you were shocked at his show of dominance, you still obeyed, admittedly a bit turned on.

He was by no means a submissive male, liking to make you come undone beneath his hands and tongue, but he wasn’t an excessively dominant one either, far more content to share roles with you than take the reigns constantly. You enjoyed that about him, liked how he wanted to share everything rather than be in control.

But this… this was new, and tantalizing, and you _wanted_ it.

You crawled up onto his bed immediately, settling on your knees and elbows and grabbing at his headboard, arching your back and parting your legs for him. You felt undeniably sexy like this, breasts brushing his pillow and your folds on full display for him, and Sans himself didn’t look unaffected, a flush of powder blue overcoming his cheekbones and his jaw dropping open slightly.

There was a flash of magic in his left socket, and suddenly he was behind you, hands on your bared backside and femurs pressed to the backs of your thighs. He let out a shuddering groan when you rubbed yourself back against him, your already wet pussy pressing against the crotch of his shorts, and clutched at your hips desperately.

You could feel his need, pushing hard against his zipper, and could hear the want in his voice as he tugged hurriedly at the button on his pants; he seemed to collect himself, though, when you started bucking your ass back against him encouragingly, laying a hard, forceful hand on your lower back and pressing down, a silent command that you succumbed to immediately.

“Hold still. I’m in charge, and… and you’re only gonna do what I want you to,” he growled, stumbling over his demands again, and even though it was incredibly cute, you dared not laugh and risk upsetting him. His confidence, while large and encompassing, was fragile, and you didn’t want to hurt his feelings, especially with him wanting to try something new.

“Yes, Blue, yes… I’m sorry, I’ll do whatever you want,” you muttered hotly, arching your back further to raise your posterior higher for him, giving him more access to your soaking core, and he shuddered against you, pulling even more desperately at his constraining clothes to get them out of the way.

After another long moment of him fumbling with his zipper, tank pulled up over his lower ribs and shorts falling to his knees at long last, he had freed himself and rubbed his thick cock over you, teasing and prodding and panting through his nasal cavity, teeth grasping at his lower lip line.

You keened needily at the heat of him against you, so close to entering, but when you tried to press back onto him, desperate to have him inside you and forgetting his order, he let out a rumbling snarl, hands clenching at your hips tightly, on the edge of pain.

“I told you to hold still! B-bad girls that don’t listen get… get punished. You don’t want that, do you?” he threatened tremulously, voice fluctuating into an almost apology, and though your heart stuttered in your chest at the thought, wondering what exactly he had in mind, you still frowned, a strange inkling that something was very wrong sinking into your soul.

This wasn’t right…

He seemed adamant about continuing this, despite his clear troubles with the situation, so you shook your head slowly, stilling your movements obediently.

“Sorry, baby. I’ll be good, promise,” you assured him, and he nodded stiffly, releasing your waist to refocus on rubbing the tip of his dick through your arousal, groaning beneath his breath and sucking in excited, tight breaths through his nasal cavity.

He had never been very good with waiting for gratification, intensely tactile and passionate in his needs, and didn’t spend long teasing you; after another minute, he could wait no longer and lined himself up with your dripping entrance, girth spreading your folds tantalizingly.

“You want it? Huh? Say it. Tell me that you… you want me to f-fuck you,” he growled in a stuttering undertone, cursing for the first time you’d heard in _years (_ what was going on with him tonight?), and though you liked him saying it, a LOT, you still hesitated, blinking and looking back at him over your shoulder.

His face looked tight, determined but reluctant; he held his glowing, blue cock in one hand, and was wiping at the edges of his sockets with the back of the other, almost like he was… crying.

Shock and worry overcame you, and you tried to sit up, needing to comfort and hug him, but as soon as you started moving to do so, he looked back at you, desperate alarm filling his sockets.

“No, stay there! I want… I _need_ this. I’m okay, just sweating, please… I mean… get back down, we’re not done,” he recanted, flustered and pushing you back down to the bed forcefully, and even though you knew he wasn’t okay, even though you _knew_ something was going on here that you did **not** like…

If he needed this, for whatever reason, you’d oblige him. You could talk it out of him later, after he had sated whatever desire was clawing at him right now.

“…alright, honey. If you need it… then fuck me,” you encouraged him, reminding him of his demand, and behind you, Sans let out a loud, shocked moan, the dirty word sending a jolt of pleasure through him.

He didn’t wait a second longer, after your utterance; he sheathed himself in your shuddering core in one motion, filling you entirely and jerking a cry of ardor from your lips.

At this point, you expected him to wait for you to adjust to him, his girth such that you usually needed a moment to accustom yourself to the stretch of your walls around his thick cock. He was always glad to give you that time, kissing you sweetly and stroking your bare skin in silent worship.

This time, though, he wasted no time in pulling back and thrusting back into you, sending a jolt of pleasure-pain through your abdomen. He clutched at your hips and thrust again, forcing himself so deep into you that you felt the arch of his pubis brush your clit, the rasp of bone on soaked, heated flesh forcing a moan from you despite the slight sting of his motion.

Normally, you’d have asked him to slow down, to give you a moment and to be a little gentler, but he seemed to be focused, insistent, even, on his roughness, starting up a rapid, jarring pace that had your knees sliding forwards with each meeting of his pelvis against your backside, the slick, wet slap of bone to flesh filling the room quickly.

You knew he knew what he was doing, knew that he was aware of your pain and his usual treatment of you (he was a conscientious lover, and thought of you before himself constantly), and his continued motion, despite that, both worried and turned you on. You had a feeling this, his excessive, out of character dominance, had something to do with his earlier pouting, and you really hoped that he wasn’t doing even more harm to his fragile temperament with this.

Because even though you were worried about him, you were having a _very_ good time. So good, that you couldn’t resist thrusting back into his frenzied movements, inviting him deeper into your desperate pussy.

He noticed your movements, a growl escaping him, and with a loud slap and a streak of quick, pleasurable pain, his hand came down across your bare ass, jerking a yelp of surprise from you.

At the sound, rather than continuing, Sans shuddered to a halt, scrambling away from you and into the far corner of his bed, curling in on himself and collapsing into tears.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I’m _sorry_ … please don’t leave me, I’m so sorry… I didn’t wanna hurt you, I just thought… but I don’t like it, I _hate_ it, I don’t wanna make you scared, it doesn’t feel good, I’m sorry… I can’t do it… please stay…” he sobbed, wailing into his curled up knees, and you rushed to his side as fast as you could, confused and shocked and reaching for him.

“Sans, calm down, sweetheart… I’m not going to leave you for smacking my butt, c’mon, it’s okay… where is this all coming from, huh? You’re never like this, what’s wrong? Did something happen? Did… did someone make you feel like you weren’t enough for me? It’s not true, I like what we do,” you soothed, stroking your hand over his skull and trying to pull him into your arms, but he leaned away from you, hugging his bare legs and choking on a cry of misery.

“You smelled like Papy today! You spend so much time with him, and even though I know you are friends, as expected of him being the very best brother there is, I… I smelled him on you, and thought… thought that you might have become interested in him! A lot of women are, he has girls in his room all the time, and they talk about what he does to them. He’s r-rough, and calls them bad names, and they like it… you smelled like him, and I thought… that maybe… you had gotten that from him too. That maybe you were tired of my way. So I thought! I thought, if I tried to be mean, and did the things he did, that you… that y-you wouldn’t l-leave me…” he explained behind the cover of his hands, shuddering and weeping heavily through his quick words, and you stared at him, shocked and taken aback, before smiling kindly, scooting closer to him.

Oh, this was too much. He was _jealous_.

“Sans, you silly skeleton. I smelled like Papyrus because the shirt I wore today ended up in his laundry when it went through. I’m not sleeping with your brother. He’s great, and funny, and a very good brother to you, but I’m not interested in him. You couldn’t make me go in that cesspool of a room of his if you paid me. You, though… you, I love, and cherish, and adore. When we have sex, I’m never happier, or better taken care of. I’m not going anywhere, Blueberry. I’m yours,” you insisted to him, snuggling your face against his shoulder, and he paused, slowly looking at you over his forearm.

His sockets were filled with hopeful lights, sparkling and bright.

“Mine… just mine. I’m… I’m sorry. I was so worried about convincing you that I could be what you wanted, that I… I should have talked to you,” he apologized, unwrapping himself from his own arms to catch you into his grasp, and you shook your head, pressing kisses to his skull.

“It’s okay, Blue. You’re too much of a sincere sweetheart for me to hold a grudge. But next time… if there is a next time… just come to me,” you insisted, and he nodded, scooting you both up the bed so you could recline on the pillows together.

The two of you rested for a time, just touching each other softly and reveling in your reconnection, but soon, you started getting handsy, still excited and wet from your earlier… activities. You leaned against his bared ribs, hooking your fingers between them, rubbing and drawing his attention from running his phalanges through your hair.

“How about you reacquaint me with “your way”?” you encouraged, accompanying your insinuation with your thigh reaching up to drape over his hip, and he smiled brightly, sockets flashing as he rolled the two of you over so he could kneel between your legs.

“Only if you promise to make all the noises that you were earlier.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to leave a comment!


	9. Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sans takes a little time to show his softer side.
> 
> My Tumbr, for sneak peeks, skele sins, extra content, and other shenanigans.  
> http://thebananafrappe.tumblr.com/
> 
> My fanart blog, for all the amazing fanart that gets show to me!  
> http://fanartcenteral.tumblr.com/

*Underfell*

* * *

Sans chuckled darkly as he ran his hands down your naked body, stretched out on his bed and shadowed by his drawn curtains, the only light flickering over your bared flesh shed from the candles scattered over his headboard and nightstands, glinting off of his golden canine as well.  
  
His claws traced the old, puckered grooves carved into your skin, scraped along the roundness of your hips and down the lengths of your thighs; his mouth, grinning but gentle, found the bite marks that littered your shoulders and the tops of your breasts, tracing the tip of his tongue over the rough, marred tissue.

His gaze admired the ligature marks of rope and chain that decorated your wrists, held high above your head, his mouth moved to press a toothy kiss to your neck, darkened by pressure wounds from your collar, and you knew, in his mind, he was seeing the pink lines that ran down your back, left behind by his eager hands and tight embraces.

His cock, sunk into you to the hilt, twitched at his observations, and jerked a moan from you, your thighs drawing tight around his hips and your hands pulling his face up, to yours, to press needy, loving kisses to his jaw and smirking mouth.

Sans chuckled again, at that, and threaded one hand into your hair, the other pressing your hips back down into the bed, and kissed you until your head swam, drunk on his flavor and intent.

He was being very gentle today, an oddity for him, but one that you welcomed.

It was easy to forget how much he loved you, in your day to day; he was a gruff, rude, petulant monster, tending towards a scowl more than a smile, and grew very angry very quickly, his temper short and quick. He never hurt you outside the bedroom, of course, all his threats playful and falsely intimidating, but he wasn’t a very affectionate male, keeping to his own space and liking his alone time.

Moments like these reminded you without a shadow of a doubt, though. Moments when he wasn’t focused on pushing you to your absolute limit, moments when the sex wasn’t rough and fast, kinky or sweaty or hard. Moments when he just held you, touched the marks of himself on your body, and showed you the tenderness that he hid from everyone else.

He licked again at your shoulder as he rolled his hips into you, laving at the deepest of his bites, the first he had ever placed, and growled, deep and low, in his chest, almost a purr.

“just look at ya… just _look_. so pretty, covered in my scars. could anyone else ever see ya and not know you’re mine, darlin’?” he crooned, making actual love to you instead of merely fuckin you, and you kissed passionately at his neck rather than answering, knowing better than to speak without permission in his bed.

He hummed his approval when you kept your head down, moving his hand to your clit to thumb your arousal higher, grinning at the higher pitch your moans took on.  
  
“‘course they’d know. how could they not? it’s practically written in your flesh… “property of sans”. that, and i’d be there in a second, rippin’ their fuckin’ heads off with my bare hands for lookin’ at ya naked,” he snickered, something dark and sinisterly avaricious entering his voice, and you let out a haltering gasp, clinging to him as his rough, raw possessiveness pushed you over the edge, spasming around his thick cock.

He laughed at that, loud and raucous, before bending to place his forehead against yours, his hips picking up speed and drawing your orgasm out even longer as he stared into your eyes meaningfully.

“let’s make a few more tonight, hmm? just to make sure you don’t forget who ya **_belong_** to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to leave a comment!


	10. Outdoors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sans is gonna make you see the stars, alright.
> 
> My Tumblr, for sneak peeks, skele sins, extra content, and other shenanigans.  
> http://thebananafrappe.tumblr.com/
> 
> My fanart blog, for all the magnificent fan art that gets shown to me.  
> http://fanartcenteral.tumblr.com/

*Undertale*

* * *

You’d had the lunar eclipse planned for months now, marked on your calendar, time taken off work, everything. You’d packed a picnic, found a perfect little hill to sit on, gotten a telescope set up… you had done everything right, just to impress and amaze Sans for his first eclipse.

You knew he’d been looking forward to it too, had been unable to talk about anything BUT it for the past two weeks (Papyrus often ended up going into another room when Sans started spouting facts and figures about the cosmic occurrence)…

Which was why you were particularly mystified that he wasn’t paying the darkening of the moon any attention, hands clasped around your inner thighs and face buried between your legs.

You moaned for perhaps the hundredth time as his tongue, slimy but warm, tracked its way up your folds again, teasing at your twitching, desperate entrance; you felt, more than heard, the skeleton monster chuckle, his fingers tightening against your flesh.

“S-sans… the eclipse is… is happening…” you stuttered, one hand jumping to your mouth while the other scrabbled for purchase on his smooth skull, and he glanced up at the sky for a moment, gaze moving over the lunar surface, then looked back at you, withdrawing his tongue from flicking at your clit to lick some of your juices from his teeth.

“yeah, i know, babe. ‘s nice, too… everythin’ i imagined. just got a little peckish… decided to stop in for a bite to eat,” he snarked, winking at you meaningfully, and you groaned at his humor before yelping when he bent back down and thrust the tip of his tongue into your core, your head falling back onto the pillow you had brought with you to rest on while observing the eclipse.

His tongue slithered sinuously in your entrance, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your entire body, and you clutched at what you could reach of him, your fingers digging into the shoulders and hood of his soft, loose jacket and your back arching.

You could practically feel him grinning against you, his tongue plunging into you in emulation of your usual nightly activities, and when he shifted one hand to rub a thumb at your clit, you’d been worked up so far that you came almost immediately, writhing under his hands and bucking against his mouth.

He rode you through your orgasm, stroking your inner walls languidly and slurping at your arousal, before pulling back and crawling up your body to kiss you, hard, shoving his tongue past your lips and forcing you to taste yourself on him, his hands needy as they pulled at the hem of your shirt.

You whimpered when he flipped your tee up over your breasts, dragging your bra up with it, and cupped them in his palms, thumbs rubbing at your already beaded nipples. He sat up, kneeling on the rumpled blanket you lay on, and stared at your breasts for a long, desirous moment before glancing up at you, smiling hopefully.

You knew what he wanted, could feel his own arousal pushed between your still spread thighs, and nodded to him eagerly.

He was straddling your middle the next moment, pulling at the elastic of his waistband to free his erection; he rubbed his glowing blue cock between your breasts as soon as his pants were out of the way, arching his spine and moaning throatily at the soft, wet motion, teeth grasping at the hem of his shirt to keep it out of the way and gaze sharp and lit with neon magic.

You watched the motion of his cock between your breasts, your mouth open to suck and lap at the head when his thrusts pushed it close enough, and the stars wheeled overhead unheeded as your monster lover fucked himself senseless, azure drool dripping from his parted jaw and hands grasping at your swaying breasts.

Eventually, when the moon above was almost completely obscured by the shadow of the earth, his thrusts shortened, his voice keening into a deep, grunting symphony of need, and you sat forward, up on your elbows, to slip his cock into your mouth, sucking and throwing him over the edge of orgasm. 

He let go of your breasts to clutch at your head, fingers digging into your hair as he spilled hot, thick magic onto your tongue, hips twitching forward to draw every drop of pleasure from his body.

You swallowed around his cock, knowing how much he liked that, and above you, Sans let out a shuddering moan, sated and drained of energy, before pulling his shorts back up and collapsing to the side, curling up against you and purposefully impeding your efforts to cover yourself back up by moving an arm around your ribs, hand settling on a bare breast.

You shot him a look of exasperation, trying to right your clothing around the bony, lazy male draped halfway over you, but he only grinned in response, chuckling and looking fondly on your mussed hair and the smear of bright blue fluid on your lower lip, before glancing up to the sky, watching as the last light of the moon disappeared into shadow.

“heh… you were right, babe. blew my mind,” he chortled, and you reached over to punch his shoulder playfully, finally giving up on pulling your clothes back up. At least it was warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to leave a comment or suggestion!


	11. Relax

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sans really needs to let loose.
> 
> My Tumblr, for sneak peeks, skele sins, extra content, and other shenanigans.  
> http://thebananafrappe.tumblr.com/
> 
> My fanart blog, showing off all the fantastic pieces of fan art shown to me!  
> http://fanartcenteral.tumblr.com/

*Science Sans*

* * *

Sans really needed some down time.

He worked so hard up at the lab, worn down nearly to the marrow by the constant demands on his attention and time. The only thing he even had time to do at home anymore was sleep, and you couldn’t stand seeing him so morose and tired all the time.  
  
He had a leave of absence planned soon, during which you intended to wait on him hand and foot, but until that day came, you’d do everything you could to maximize his free time, to make sure he at least tried to relax. He was notorious for working through his breaks, just too concentrated to pay attention to the clock, so you’d been coming down to the university to make sure he took an hour lunch, spending it talking about anything but work and making sure he ate.

You’d made him a cute little plate of sushi today, shaped into hearts cheesily (he was one for cheesy things, very fond of puns and turn of phrase), but he’d hardly touched it… perhaps because you’d ended up on your knees between his legs, his cock buried in your mouth and his hands tangled in your hair.

You’d been more than willing to suck him off the moment he’d looked at you needily when you’d walked in; he was so pent up, from having almost no time at home to be his slightly awkward but very romantic self, and you were happy to oblige your skeletal boyfriend in the name of his comfort.

And, of course, to assuage your own need for him.

You bobbed your head further down, slicking your tongue down the underside of his shaft and sucking at the thick blue erection you were so very fond of, and Sans threw his head back against the backrest of his rolling office chair, his hips making restrained movements up into your mouth.

“stars, sugar, you… damn, you’re so good,” he panted, tie loose around his neck and jaw parted to suck in greedy mouthfuls of air, the lights that floated so serenely in his otherwise empty sockets fuzzing in his pleasure and distraction.

You smirked at that, and pulled yourself off his cock to smile up at him, grasping him and pumping your hand along his saliva and pre-cum soaked arousal; he groaned at the loss of your mouth, looking down at you in near panic. You let out a quiet laugh, rubbing the hard, tense head of his cock against your lips and breathing hotly against it.

“Just catching my breath, baby… you know I wouldn’t edge you at a time like this,” you crooned up at your desperate lover, and he let out a shuddering moan, hand jumping to his mouth, when you licked over the sensitive tip of him, keening and thrusting his hips up into your loose grasp around his shaft.

“like h-hell you wouldn’t, you tease…” he accused playfully through his fingers, the safety goggles propped up on the top of his skull catching the light from a lighting strip on the ceiling, and you could only chuckle at that, your answer being going back down on him, relaxing your throat to take his entire length into your mouth.

Sans let out a yelp at the sudden stimulation, pulling at your hair and making unintelligible noises in the back of his throat; you pulled back and resumed sucking at the far more reasonable upper half of his cock (it was a blessing, sometimes, that he was thicker than he was long… you had a terrible gag reflex), and allowed the flex of his hips up into your mouth, letting him fuck your mouth at his own pace.  
  
He held out under your ministrations for perhaps another minute or so, during which you snuck a hand between your own legs to rub at your soaking pussy through your pants, but when you felt his cock start to throb and twitch, hardening just that little bit more, you pulled your mouth off of him and rubbed your hand along his girth, thumbing at the underside of the head and looking up at him under your lashes.

Your heated look alone sent him over the edge, his whole body tensing and his jaw dropping to release a shuddery groan of ecstasy; neon blue magic pumped from him and onto your face, neck, and the tops of your breasts, catching on your spread lips and partially extended tongue as well.

You stroked Sans through his release, unable to keep the smile off your face at his relieved twitching and completely relaxed pose (he had collapsed all the way back into his chair, lazy gaze on you), before you loosened your hold on his cock, standing to grab up a towel from his workspace to clean yourself up.  
  
You let out a slight gasp, surprised, when his hands pulled at your hips, pulling you back and into his lap so he could nuzzle at your neck, arms wrapping around your middle and a near purr of contentment rumbling in his rib cage.

“you are a creature of beauty and magnificence, and i will never know what i did to deserve that,” he muttered against your throat, loving and snuggly, and you giggled before opening your mouth to answer him… but were silenced by a pair of bony fingers entering your mouth, pressing against your tongue and rubbing.

His other hand lowered to stroke along your inner thigh, climbing slowly higher, and from the corner of your eye, you could see a thick mist of bright blue exuding from his left socket, a hungry grin stretching his perpetual smile even wider.

His long, azure tongue slicked along your neck as your adventuring hand found the seam of your legs, stroking at your wetness through your pants.

“i need to make a study of it… see what makes you humans and your incredible sexiness tick. so ready yourself, lover… we’re going to do some measurements. finding the torque of your mass on my rod, specifically,” he snarked, and though you could taste the pun on his scientific jargon, you could offer no complaint, given his fingers pulling insistently at your belt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to leave a comment or make a suggestion!


	12. Wet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 16
> 
> Sans and Papyrus have a little surprise for you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Tumblr, for sneak peeks, skele sins, extra content, and other shenanigans.  
> http://thebananafrappe.tumblr.com/
> 
> My fanart blog, for all the glorious fan art show to me!  
> http://fanartcenteral.tumblr.com/

*Underswap*

* * *

You narrowly dodged the bright green water balloon as it flew past you to explode on the wall behind you, your laughter carrying across the backyard as you launched your own missile, aimed at the just as gleefully giggling skeleton monster across the yard from you.  
  
Papyrus watched you and his brother from his lawn chair at the edge of the patio, though you were pretty sure that he was sleeping rather than actually watching (it was hard to tell behind his sunglasses), but you didn’t need him for you and Sans, who was scooping another balloon from his bucket and grinning at you, to have fun.

“Come on, Blue, that all you got?” you called out, struggling to grasp the last slippery balloon in your bucket and keep an eye on your incredibly good-at-throwing-wet-things boyfriend at the same time (you were completely soaked, while Sans had taken almost no casualties besides two lucky throws of yours, and very glad you’d decided on wearing your bikini out to the backyard today), then had a wicked idea, putting a finger to your lips and then pointing at Papyrus, who was reaching out to feel blindly for his cup of lemonade.

Sans grinned widely, nodding repeatedly, then feigned a battle stance.  
  
“Oh, I’ll show you “what I got”, human! Prepare for my next assault!” he shouted, practically giddy at his coup (overacted, but you supposed that was more because of his watching too much Napstabot on television lately than any fault of his own), then launched his watery weapon at his brother at the same time you did, both of you gleefully waiting for the payout.

Not very surprisingly, Papyrus reached out and snatched his brother’s balloon from the air with no trouble; he’d always had extremely good senses and reflexes, and was fantastic at dodging almost anything from thrown newspapers to chores. He, however, seemed not to realize that a second missile had been launched from your end of the lawn, and took your water balloon straight to the side of the head, his sunglasses flying off onto the grass and water pouring down his front to completely soak his black tank top and khaki shorts.

He blinked for a moment, shocked and spluttering, then turned to glare at you playfully, standing and tossing the balloon he had caught in his hand menacingly.

“can’t a guy get any shuteye around here without getting sabotaged by his girl? tsk… not playing fair today, sugar,” he growled teasingly, looming over you with a grin, then smashed the balloon over your head, frigid water flooding down your body and jerking a yelp of surprise from you.

You pouted up at him, pulling your saturated hair from your face and wiping water from your eyes, but he only smirked, looking over at his brother across the yard, who was eyeing his bucket in dissatisfaction (probably because it was empty).

“think that’s enough for one day, bro. all of the human’s sweetness will wash away if you get her any wetter. let’s go dry off and have some lunch,” he encouraged, wrapping an arm around your shoulders to steer you inside through the back door (not that you were complaining; despite the warmth of the sun, you were shivering. Papyrus must have noticed… the sweetie bones), and Sans made no complaint either, streaking across the yard to slip inside behind the two of you.

“Of course! We wouldn’t want that to happen… then who would we smooch?” he commented slyly as he picked up one of the towels the two of you had set out on the kitchen table before going outside that morning, reaching over to press a toothy, adorable kiss to your lips before draping the towel over your shuddering shoulders, and you beamed at him adoringly, clasping the towel around your body and reveling in the plush warmth of it.

Papyrus shucked off his soaked tank top and tossed it onto the kitchen floor carelessly, but before you could complain at him for it, also reached out and started rubbing you dry with your towel, bending over you from behind and kissing your neck.

“dunno, bro. think we’d be smoochless… nobody’s quite like her, least not for us,” he muttered, glancing over at you from the corners of his sockets as he rubbed his hands down your sides to dry you, and you flushed prettily, ducking your head under the edge of the towel.

You’d been living with the pair of skeleton monsters for almost two years now, an arrangement began as attempt by all three of you to save on rent and grocery money, but that had morphed into far more over the time that you’d been here, both brothers moving into your heart as easily as you’d moved into their spare bedroom.

It was a rare night, now, that the three of you didn’t share a bed together, sometimes sleeping, sometimes doing other, far more pleasurable things, and having both of them, one of your hands held by each of them almost constantly, was a blessing and a curse all in one. There was jealousy sometimes, and fights could get messy, especially if the brothers got it into their skulls that the other was being unfair to you, but overall, you’d never felt more loved, had never been more appreciated or well cared for.

Never felt more attractive than when the two monsters you loved most looked at you with desire and hunger, like they were now.

Papyrus’ gaze had turned heated, as his hands trailed along your sides and hips, his drying now only a pretense; he pressed himself against your back, humming under his breath when you gasped at the contact of his phalanges to your bare stomach, sneaking under the towel to stroke your abdomen.

Sans, from his place by the table, was watching the two of you as he toweled off, his shirt joining his brother’s on the floor (you didn’t feel the need to remonstrate him, you knew he’d pick his up later, as opposed to the lazy skeleton behind you); he draped his towel over the back of one of the chairs before sidling up to stand in front of you, hands grasping lightly at your hips and nasal ridge nuzzling at your neck.

Papyrus smirked at his brother, then at you, bright orange magic flaring to life in his sockets, before running his hand up, under the towel, to cup your breast, squeezing and watching your expression grow darker with your blush, chuckling when you shivered with stimulation.

“hmm. looks like our human might be a little cold, sans. we should warm her up, don’t you think?” he asked, the hand not currently fondling your breast clutching your waist and pulling your backside back against him, letting you feel his growing arousal through his wet shorts.

Sans made a positive sound against your throat, his own magic leaping into existence, jaw parting to let his neon blue tongue slip along the water droplets clinging to your skin.

“We should, brother. Can’t have her getting sick. What kind of boyfriends would we be then?” he crooned, his own hands slipping beneath your towel to trace your skin, fingering the edge of your swimsuit bottoms.

You let out a haltering whimper at all the attention, unused to having both of them wanting intimacy at once; it had happened a few times, usually in the morning while the three of you snuggled for warmth, but most days, the brothers preferred to be intimate with your on their own.

Today was obviously not one of those days.

Papyrus laughed quietly in response to his brother’s summation, breath hot on your shoulder, before pulling the impeding towel from your body completely and dropping it to the floor to join their clothes, the heat of their bare rib cages leeching into your flesh the moment that they made contact.

He took a moment to look over your flushed skin, your skimpy swimsuit, before speaking again, a growl hinting at the edge of his low, deep voice.

“bet you wore this on purpose today, didn’t you, sugar? just to tease us. show off the body that we both crave,” he murmured huskily, grasping both your breasts and pinching your beaded nipples through the fabric of your bikini top, and you drew in a shuddering gasp, leaning back against his chest and letting your lips gape open wantonly.

The taller skeleton monster took that opportunity to lean his head down and kiss you deeply, tongue flicking past his teeth to play with yours, while his brother dragged his hands over your bared flesh, fingertips tickling at your abdomen and upper thighs before pulling at the ties on the sides of your bottoms, unraveling the fabric and letting it drop to the floor as well.

He was on his knees the next moment, brushing your thighs apart to delve his fingers into your already wet folds. He grinned at the discovery, looking up at the two of you and popping his fingers into his mouth to taste you.

“She’s so excited already, Papy. I think you’re right… she wanted to tease us,” he exclaimed, snickering wickedly, then buried his face between your legs, tongue extending to lap at your juices hungrily.

Papyrus pulled away from your lips the moment you started moaning and arching, wanting to miss none of the sounds you made, and grinned rabidly at you, a trail of saliva stretching between the two of your tongues.

“what a naughty girl. wanted to bone us that bad, did you? well… you know we can never say no to you,” he breathed, the edge of a smirk pulling at his bony lips, then yanked the fabric of your top up, baring your breasts and separating your attention between the two of them, your mind split between his eager hands descending on your naked breasts, rolling your nipples between his fingers, and his brother’s tongue sweeping along the seam of your thighs, stimulating your arousal even higher.

You hadn’t worn the swimsuit to get their attention, but you certainly didn’t mind having it, _wow._

They played with you for awhile, plying your body into an intense level of need, before either of them sought to take pity on you or to sate their own desire; it wasn’t until you came, shaking and panting and clutching at Papyrus’ ribs and Sans’ skull both, that they separated from you to pull at their pants, their own ferocious lust glowing in their magically lit sockets.

Papyrus was ready first, only bothering to unzip his shorts to pull his long, glowing cock from them, and rubbed himself between your still trembling thighs, the slickness of his brother’s saliva and your juices making the journey smooth, wet, and so, so tantalizing. 

He grasped your upper arms, turned so he could prop himself up on the edge of the table, and then bent you forwards, kicking your legs further apart and lowering your face to meet the thick, throbbing length of Sans’ dick, drips of precum gathered on the head; he was completely naked, having shed both his boots and pants, and was stroking one hand along himself needily.

Papyrus leered from behind you, thrusting against your twitching entrance and watching you eye his brother’s cock eagerly.

“you ready, sugar?” he panted, his own need clear in his tight tone, and the moment you nodded he thrust into you, letting out a groan of complete and utter ecstasy at having your warmth wrapped around him.

He started pounding himself into you without hesitation, gripping your arms tightly and stroking your inner walls into further madness; Sans, before you, pressed his cock to your lips desperately, and you could only oblige, opening your mouth to suck at the evidence of his need for you.

The small kitchen was quickly filled with moans and cries of pleasure and the sound of bone meeting wet flesh, the monsters fucking you into oblivion losing themselves to the same mindless pleasure that overcame you when you came a second time, knees weak as Papyrus buried himself in your pussy and Sans dug his fingers into your hair, thrusting into your mouth.

Papyrus finished first, gripping your arms so tightly that you knew you’d have bruises later and spilling thick, hot magic into you with short, exquisitely deep thrusts and a long, tremulous moan; he stayed seated in your core for a long moment after, head bent back and chest heaving, before pulling from you and jerking you back as well, removing you from his brother’s dick and pulling your back against his chest to kiss you.

Sans made a desperate, angry sound, scowling at his older brother and palming his twitching erection, but Papyrus wasn’t being selfish; he tucked both of his arms under your weak, nearly powerless knees and lifted you into his arms, spreading you for Sans’ viewing pleasure.

Orange magic dripped from you to the kitchen tile, and Papyrus, breaking from your lips, grinned down at the shorter skeleton monster waiting impatiently before the two of you.

“c’mon, bro… don’t leave her _hangin’_. she’s getting lonely,” he snarked, joking about your position needlessly, but both you and Sans ignored him, your smaller statured lover stalking over to the both of you and digging his hands into the soft flesh of your ass, burying his cock in your already dripping, full pussy.

His girth stretched you wide as he thrust hard against you, needy and wordless in his desire, and you nearly fainted when he rubbed at your clit, the slick wetness of his brother’s cum squeezing out of you around his thick erection.

Papyrus kissed and licked along your neck as he held you up, his breath hot and smile wicked; the wet, sloppy sound of his brother fucking his magic out of you only made his grin wider, almost as much as your own loud cries of passion.

“yeah… fuckin’ take it. damn, this is so _sexy._..” he groaned, jolting back against the table from the ferocity of his brother’s thrusts into you, and almost came again himself when Sans, with a jerk and a shuddering cry of pleasure, spilled himself into you, pushing you over the edge with him.

The three of you stayed pressed together for a long moment, panting for breath and clutching at each other, before Sans pulled away from you with a moan and a hand passed over his sweaty forehead, smiling at you serenely before looking down at your still spread legs. 

Another moan escaped him at the vision of both his and Papyrus’ cum dripping from you, orange and blue swirling together into a congealing mess.

“Hahh… stars, Papy. You said it would be good, but I didn’t think…” he panted, voice vibrating with renewed interest and heat, and Papyrus chuckled against your shoulder, smirking and turning to set you down on the edge of the table, mindful of the puddle on the floor as well as your weak legs.

“sharing is caring, bro. but we did make a mess of her, as pleasant a mess as it is. we should get her in the shower,” he recommended, smoothing a hand up the side of your blissfully peaceful face softly, tenderly, and Sans perked up at that, swooping over to you and pushing a series of small, quick kisses to your lips before sweeping you into his arms.

“Excellent idea, brother! I will join her, as I am quite filthy as well, to make sure she doesn’t fall!” he exclaimed, though the twist to the edge of his grin told you that he had more than cleaning planned for you, and Papyrus, snorting, followed after his exuberant brother, gaze on the stains of tangerine and azure running down your bare legs hungrily.

“think i will too. safety in numbers and all that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to leave comments and suggestions!


	13. Battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 17
> 
> Sans dances his pants right off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Tumblr, for sneak peeks, skele sins, extra content, and other shenanigans.  
> http://thebananafrappe.tumblr.com/
> 
> My fanart blog, for all the amazing fanart that gets shown to me!  
> http://fanartcenteral.tumblr.com/
> 
> *Dancetale belongs to @teandstars on Tumblr*

*Dancetale*

* * *

You could tell what you had planned for Sans tonight was right, just from the way he was bobbing his head to the beat of the music.

The usually reserved skeleton monster leaned against a neon striped wall at edge of the dancefloor, far from his usual position sitting in the lounge area; his hands were stuck in his hoodie pockets, rather than juggling a drink, and his high top sneakers were crossed over each other at the ankle and jiggling to the bass line.

The lights that lit his sockets were trained on the undulating bodies of the patrons on the dance floor, intense and alive, from under the brim of his cap and his raised hood, and his perpetual grin looked tense, raised not in humor, but longing and passion.

He was ready, poised and wanting. All he needed was a push.

For him, this was more than dancing, more than just the movement of bodies and the smell of sweat and the touch of another person while primal urge joined with fluid motion. This was the purpose of his existence, the meaning to his life, the bass beat of his very soul. He was meant to dance, and had neglected the need to answer the call of his magic too long.

As such, even though you were nervous, even though you had never done anything like this in your life, even though you weren’t sure he would welcome your intrusion into the inner world he had hidden for so much time, you still strutted through the crowd, returned from your timely escape to the restrooms so you could change into something more appropriate for his style (your short skirt would likely not handle the rapid movements well, not without flashing the crowd, at least), to the center of the dance floor.

You gestured at the DJ, who you had paid off earlier, and the man switched tracks with a speed that caused most of the people in the club to stop in their dances immediately; it certainly caught Sans’ attention, his gaze moving to the DJ questioningly and his rhythmic movements ceasing.

His gaze returning the floor caught yours, though, registering your newly changed clothes and the space on the floor that you were clearing by shooing your hands at the people around you awkwardly, and raised a brow, clearly curious.

His expression changed to disbelief and shock as soon as the new music dropped and you started to dance, though, closely following the hip hop routine you had been studying and practicing for months.

You danced alone, closing your eyes to concentrate and still your nervous heart and nerves (along with trying to ignore the clapping, cheering crowd, who quickly caught on to the tone); you knew your movements were clipped and unprofessional, nowhere near what you had been told he was capable of, but it felt good, it felt right, and as soon as your routine ended, shortened to give you time to enact your plan, you stopped, panting and sweating through your sweat pants and tank top…

And pointed at a wide-socketed, astounded Sans, from his position against the wall, calling him out and into a dance battle.

This had been a long time coming, ever since you had met the skeleton monster, in reality… it had been almost a year ago, in this very nightclub, in fact.

When you’d first laid eyes on him, he’d been standing at the bar, a bottle of beer in one hand and the inside of one of his baggy, low-slung jeans’ pockets in the other, arguing with the bartender about the balance of his tab. He’d snapped something angry, flushed with blue across his cheekbones, and had turned on his heel to stomp into the crowd.

Monsters had still been relatively new to the surface at the time, only a few months after they had risen from their underground prison, led by a tiny human ballerina that now stood as their ambassador, and you had been more intimidated by him than you liked to think now, trained by culture to fear monsters, or at least the human interpretation of them.

You had felt for his plight, though, had been flabbergasted by his treatment, and though you had felt more than your fair share of nervousness at interfering, you had been feeling incredibly magnanimous, as you had received a nice bonus from work, as well as justified in defending someone against clear racism (the bartender had called the skeleton monster quite an awful name), and had paid off his tab for him.

It hadn’t even been much, the balance of at most three drinks, and after glaring at the man behind the bar and giving him a lecture on the treatment of his customers, you had left it at that, intending to lose yourself to the dance floor and, perhaps, find someone to bring home with you for the night.

You hadn’t expected the monster to come up to you as you rested, or for him to thank you for your helping him. He had been a little awkward in his approach, and had offered to pay you back as soon as he was able (apparently, no one was hiring monsters right now, and he was having some financial troubles), and you had been, admittedly, a little awkward yourself, having never spoken to a monster before.

He had been even offsetting up close, composed of exposed bones and grinning teeth and nearly empty sockets (all but for bright, quizzical, floating lights suspended in them), but his personality had taken you out of your instinctual fear almost immediately, charmed by his easy, likable attitude and deep, soothing voice and his seemingly natural talent for comedy. He had had you laughing within moments of approaching you, and had sat with you for the rest of the night, entertaining you and distracting you completely from your dancing.

Once the two of you were out of the club, he had held out a hand to you tentatively and introduced himself as Sans (the skeleton, he added with a wink, making you giggle like the silly drunk you were), and though he clearly expected you to cringe away from touching him, you had slapped your own hand into his, shaking it firmly.

The two of you had been fast friends ever since, meeting in and out of the club several times a week, and during your acquaintance, you had learned so much about monsters that when you looked back on that first night, you flushed with embarrassment at the thought that he could have ever hurt you.

Monsters were not the beasts that humans liked to imply they were, and were most certainly not evil or conscienceless murderers; they loved deeply, mated for life with their one true beloved, believed in the universe as their deity, were made of magic and hope and caring and love, and were, to a one, compelled to dance.

Dancing was their calling, the culmination of everything they were and could ever be. The thrum of their souls dictated their dance, beating with an inner rhythm that ruled their whole lives. They danced while in love, they danced in sadness, they danced in their wishes to the stars, and they danced into death too.

Every monster you met had their own inner music, danced to the beat of their own drum; there was jazz, and waltz, and capoeira, and swing, and salsa, a beautiful cacophony of movement and grace honed over centuries of practice and care and passion. Dance was the air they breathed, the food they ate and the motion of the skies to them.

And yet, you had never, not even once, seen Sans dance.

He never showed interest in doing so, either, going blissfully deaf when anyone asked him about it and avoiding circumstances that would force him to whenever able; the only times he even put himself near to a dancefloor was at the nightclub the two of you frequented, but he never explained why.

The most you could guess was that being there, close to the music that sang through his soul, was soothing to him.

However, as time had gone on, you had seen that he wasn’t as content with his stillness and slouching around as he seemed. His grin was, most times, a false one, upheld to avoid questions and intrusions, and the way he watched the dancefloor, hollow and longing, made your heart ache.

You’d become invested in finding out not why he had stopped dancing (his brother had told you, once, that Sans had been a master of his art, a legend among their people, and had taken so much joy in his craft that he had never, never gone a day without dancing), but in getting him to try again, to try to get that painful, fake smile off his face in his empty, lonely times.

You’d wondered, for a while, when you’d gotten so interested in making him happy beyond the call of your friendship, so far as to possibly invade in his personal privacy to a level so deep that he could very likely disown you completely… but you’d known, deep down, exactly why.

You’d fallen for Sans, and _hard_.

It had been easy, in the end, to lose yourself to his draw, to his laugh and his humor, to his love for his friends and family, to the complexity of his past and secret facets of his soul. You’d been stunned when you started to think of him as handsome, to yourself, to find yourself flushing when he grinned at you or waved from across a room or touched your hand in passing.

You’d stopped seeking bedmates, unable to see anyone but him when taking them to bed, and though you were nearly sure that it was only your hopeful mind, your lovelorn, despairing mind (why would he ever want a human?), sometimes it felt like he was looking at you that way too, that the times when he watched you dance or talk or eat or try to catch snowflakes on your tongue, he was thinking other things.

Things about you and him, and what you could have together if you could only have the chance.

But neither of you ever made a move. Neither of you ever bridged the gap when a heavy silence fell between you, or when his hand sat on top of yours just a little too long, or when you leaned on his broad shoulders and he looked over at you with that shit eating grin and suddenly your faces were too close together, and you could smell bone and magic and _want_ on your shared breath.

You wanted Sans, and his happiness, so much that it hurt. You weren’t sure if it was meant to be, to have him to yourself… so you would take his potential happiness instead, the return of his dance.

So you’d started planting seeds. You’d edged the table you two sat at closer and closer to the dance floor, had put on dancing competitions on the tv whenever he came over… you’d even started putting on hip hop music every time the two of you rode in the car together. He’d been a bit bemused by it at the beginning, given your usual tendency to listening to pop, but had clearly enjoyed the change.

You’d known it was time when he’d started moving to the beat of the music, tapping his feet or shifting his shoulders to the rhythm. You’d even caught him popping in the kitchen, once, when you’d walked out of the room to get something from another room, making you nearly giddy.

For the final touch, though, you would need to confront him, and not somewhere he could easily brush it off and make his escape.

You had heard of monster confrontations, from your long friendship with Sans and his close group of friends. You had seen how monsters would dance together, their moves emulating each other’s no matter their own personal dance style, and how soul resonance would be achieved by the end of their dance. You had even seen Frisk, the young savior of monsterkind, dance with a few of them, her tiny body moving in tandem with the far larger and fiercer monsters.

She had never come to harm, so you figured, for your battle, you would be safe. Sans wouldn’t hurt you… not even if he got mad at you for pulling this stunt.

You really hoped he wouldn’t get mad…

From his place against the wall, Sans was looking slightly panicked, looking between you and the exit of the club as though deciding whether to join you or flee; he was making sharp, jerking motions with his skull, as though shaking his head, and his grin had fallen from his face completely, turning into a flat line of nervousness and tension.

You frowned at this, a sinking feeling filling your heart, and in a last-ditch attempt at getting him to play along, though you had little hope now, you turned your hand over and held it out to him, palm up. No longer a demand, but a request.

The two of you stared each other down, gauging each other… before Sans, his jaw tightening and his sockets narrowing, shoved himself away from the wall and stalked onto the dance floor, to hoots and wild cheers from the crowd. He faced you across the glowstick littered space, cracking his neck, then pulled his hands from his pockets.

“dunno what you’re playin’ at, but fine. you’ve obviously gone to some trouble to make this happen. …i’ll find out why later. for now… let’s dance, honey,” he grumbled, looking you over and pulling his hood higher over his head… and then he was moving, falling into rhythm with the music almost seamlessly.

It was like watching a waterfall in containment, fire in a whirlwind, lightning arching between dark thunderheads; he was fluidity and passion, a blur and a still life work of art.

His sneakers squeaked against the floor as he danced, his jeans rustled and his jacket flared, but even the music in the distance and the rising volume of the watching crowd couldn’t distract you from the light that filled his eyes as he moved, the sheer joy that gleamed in his grin.

Your heart fluttered, when his gaze met yours. Yes… you had done right.

He kept his moves fairly simple, during his turn (though you could hardly call them that, with the way he made them seem so effortless and facile), but when he stopped to give the floor to you, he was practically glowing, grinning widely and breathing heavily and pacing, like he couldn’t sit still.

Seeing Sans like this made you incredibly, indescribably happy, and as you started your next set, you could feel something else in the air, something electric and permeating and _hot_. It sank below your skin, pulling at something buried deep in your chest (you soul…?), and you couldn’t help but match his grin, your feet speeding almost faster than you could control.

There was no crowd, in your mind, the focus and intent of your every motion and sight and thought _him_ , standing across the floor from you and watching your every move while his head nodded to the beat; your heart was in your throat, your blood pumping white hot through your veins.

This. This _meant_ something, though you didn’t know what quite yet.

You finished with a move that you’d worked on tirelessly for half a year, sinking to spin on the palms of your hands with one leg extended, flipping halfway through to arch into a somersault, and rose back to standing to wild applause from the crowd and an impressed smirk from the monster across from you, his sockets glittering with an inner fire and his cheekbones flushed a bright blue.

“you’ve been busy… and you’ve definitely got talent. i’ll hafta give you some tips later… show you some moves,” he called out to you, magic sparking over his bones and voice deep and sonorous, and you flushed at the twist he gave his words, something oddly suggestive about them and the way he watched a drip of sweat streak down your collarbone.

Sans made no further comment, though, only sending a wink your way that a few people in the crowd wolf whistled at, before he was moving again, clearly stepping up his game to match your greater tempo.

He looked to you more often while he danced this time, though, holding your gaze as he pulled off flips and hand stands and spins that you could only dream of; his sockets held an intensity and passion in them that you could feel physically, brushing your skin and thrumming in your blood.

Your sweat felt cold on your skin, under that gaze; it felt like an invitation, like a beckoning, like he wanted nothing more than for you to join him.

Eventually, under the pressure of his gaze and the thump of the beat and the undeniable pull of attraction for him that was fuzzing your mind into insanity (he looked so… _sexy_ … dancing like this), you stepped onto the floor with him, launching into the last of your planned dances… but abandoned it almost immediately when he stepped up to you, put his hands on your hips, and spun you across the floor only to catch you, taking one of your hands, tipping you backwards, and grinning down at you, both sultry and inspired.

“two’s better than one, hot stuff. dance with me… show me the music in your heart,” he crooned, lost to the frenzy of his own excitement, and though you flushed and trembled in his hands, confused but hopeful (those were the words Toriel had told you monster lovers said while they danced… did this mean that he…?), you still swallowed, nervous and breathing hard, before nodding, gripping his hand tightly.

“Dance with me, Sans. Show me the rhythm of your soul,” you answered tremulously, staring up at him with as much sincerity as you could muster, and his grin softened for a moment, literal hearts forming in his sockets, before he pulled you up and into the dance again.

You’d seen partners dance before, many, many times. You’d seen couples, husband and wife, long time lovers, one-night standers, and everything in between… but nothing you’d ever watched or even been a part of could compare to this.

Sans was a master of his art, that much was certain, but he amazed you even further with his grasp and dedication to your pas de deux, your partnered dance flowing just as easily as his single motions had. You were awkward in your turns and dips and meeting his hands, flushing and stumbling occasionally, but he always caught you, always pulled you into his arms and against his body and smiled, serene and almost transcendent.

His motions spoke of his feelings more than his words ever had, the touch of his hands to your body and the brush of his breath over your lips and the hardness of his bones against you; you didn’t stop blushing the whole time the two of you danced, blood stoked into an inferno and abdomen tightening every time his gaze met yours.

Him moving behind you and pulling your hips into his, grinding your ass against his pelvis, helped nothing either.

He spoke to you with more than his body, though, whispering in your ear when he held you close… telling you things you’d always wondered at.

“you did all this for me, didn’t you… learning these dances, and setting this up… getting me to want to dance again. stars, i love you.”

“what did i do to deserve you?”

“damn, i never thought… i can’t believe we’re dancing. _together_. i had hoped. i had wished… but it’s real. i’ve never been this fuckin’ happy.”

“…or this turned on. are you feelin’ it too, honey?”

“you drive me crazy, babe… really wish you hadn’t picked a club to do this in, though. i can’t wait to get you alone.”

“fuck, you’re sexy. callin’ me out like that… confronting me in public… and dancing _my_ dance for me… i’d fuck you right here if the floor was cleaner.”

“damnit, how _long_ is this **song**?!”

Just as he was starting to get impatient, his hands starting to get a bit more adventurous and his grin both voracious and impatient, the song came to an end, to an enormous cheer from the crowd around you, but you didn’t linger long enough to receive any of their veneration.

Sans pulled you hard against him and crushed his bony lips to yours, stealing your breath from your body, and turned with you in his arms, teleporting right out of the club and against the hard, rough surface of a wall in a dark room, his hands fumbling to pull your tank up over your breasts while you pushed at his hood, kissing desperately at his neck.

This seemed rather quick, and a potentially bad way to start a relationship, but you’d both been dancing around the subject too long, had clearly both been wanting it, and if you got your rocks off before sitting down and hashing out where you two were… who cared?

Sans certainly didn’t seem to mind, pressing a knee between your spread thighs and fighting with the zipper on his pants while tangling his long blue tongue with yours, and you both wrestled with your clothes in the near darkness, moaning and feeling and tasting each other everywhere you could reach.

He lifted one of your legs over one arm and slid into you the moment he could, your pants and underwear hanging around one ankle and his pushed down around his knees, and you both groaned in unison, pent up lust and need and arousal breaking into frenzied motion and urgent, messy sex.

You chanted each other’s names in tandem, clinging and grasping and learning each other’s bodies through blind feeling, kissing each other breathless and riding each other into mindless orgasm.

The quickness of your joining and finishing rocked you, leaving you gasping and lightheaded against the sweating, trembling monster you clung to, but you were drawn from your contented surprise by bony lips pressing against yours softly, slowly, the thickness of his cock pushing in and out of you gently, stirring another moan from you.

Sans grinned against your lips at that, then pulled from you with a grunt of his own, helping you right your clothes and fixing up his own. He kissed you again once the two of you were decent, then flipped a switch on the wall next to him, revealing his bedroom, the two of you standing about three feet from his bed.

You turned to glare at him good-naturedly, pointing at the unmade bed and raising a brow, but he only shrugged, grinning and sliding his hands into his pockets.

“sorry babe, i’ll get you on there for round two. you were just too strong for me, couldn’t pull you away to make it there; i’m all bones, not a muscle on me,” he excused with a laugh, his sockets sparkling with mischief and humor, and you rolled your eyes before picking your way across his messy floor to sit yourself on the edge, resigning yourself to a surely pun-filled confession conversation.

He was lucky you loved his bony butt so much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not as much sex as there is battle XD sorry about that. We're gonna have a big sexy one tomorrow, though, I can promise that!
> 
> Feel free to leave a comment or a kink suggestion!


	14. Edge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 18
> 
> G isn't playing around... or maybe he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Tumblr, for sneak peeks, skele sins, extra content, and other shenanigans.  
> http://thebananafrappe.tumblr.com/
> 
> My fanart blog, for all the fantastic fanart that gets show to me!  
> http://fanartcenteral.tumblr.com/
> 
> *G!Sans belongs to @borurou on Tumblr*

*G!Sans*

* * *

You’d known it was going to be an interesting morning, to say the least, when you’d woken up to find yourself on your side, one leg held high in the crook of G’s arm, your panties pulled to the side, and your skeletal boyfriend furiously pumping his cock into your core.

You’d been intending to make pancakes that morning, in the mood for something fluffy, but he’d clearly been at it for awhile, judging from how wet you were and how hot the blood rushing in your veins was, and had forgotten about your planned breakfast almost immediately, keening wantonly and letting the rabid, desirous monster fucking you into a puddle have his way with you.

He’d been close when you’d woken, moaning against your neck and scraping your skin with his teeth, and stroked your clit in time with his jarring thrusts, drawing you close to your end as well… until he stopped rubbing you, just as he came, leaving you hanging and hot and twitching, dripping with his golden magic but unfulfilled and, to be frank, a little upset with his form.

He was usually so good about helping you over the edge…

You’d made to get out of bed, after he had pulled from you and kissed over the backs of your shoulders for awhile, intending to get to your breakfast (and thinking, to yourself, about maybe not making him any; see how he liked being left out), but G had held you down to the mattress, crawling over you and looking down on you with a smirk and a simple, devilish question.

“and where do you think you’re going, angel?”

That had been over an hour ago.

G had been torturing you for so long, fingering you and licking you and groping you and fucking you for so long that you couldn’t remember what day it was, much less about your pancakes, and the whole time, no matter your begging or pleading or arching, he hadn’t let you get off even once.

He had filled you with cum more than once, in his torturing, had drenched your back and your stomach and inner thighs with his thick, glowing magic; you were definitely going to have to wash the sheets after this. But even that was a far off consideration, your mind focused completely on the tightness of your abdomen, the needy pull of your core around his cock, and the throb of your arousal between your spread legs.

Damn him… _damn_ him…

The end of your torture found you on your side again, one leg between his and the other thrown over his shoulder, as he rolled his hips into you, clutching at your thigh and thumbing your swollen clit with a rapacious grin.

You were moaning constantly at this point, so desperate for release that you were almost crying; your voice was hoarse from your cries of pleasure and your begging, your fingers dug into the sheets below you for some sort of support.

G looked incredibly approving of the state he had left you in, his golden tongue sweeping between his teeth to lick at his upper canines; he hummed in pleasure and self-indulgence, chuckling beneath his breath and wiping a line of sweat from his jaw onto his clavicle.

“stars, you look so pretty when you’re desperate… begging for it like a whore. c’mon, beautiful, once more… i’ll take pity on you after that,” he assured you in a teasing purr, circling your clit with the tip of his finger tantalizingly, and you glared at him from the corner of your eye but succumbed immediately nevertheless.

You didn’t care about grandstanding right now… you’d get him back for this later. You just needed to cum, and _now_.

“Please, baby, _please_ … let me orgasm, I _need_ it, I need _you_ , **_please_** …” you cried out as his hips sped in his conceited, prideful dominance, sending the fire of your potential release through your whole body to fog your mind into unknowable ecstasy, and the skeleton monster burying his cock in you voraciously grinned wider, panting and victorious.

“damn right you need me. now _cum_ , precious. cum for me,” he urged, his own voice taut with his impending end as he rubbed at your clit just hard enough, just fast enough, and you finally, _finally_ tipped over the edge, so worked up and turned on and stimulated that you literally screamed in the coiling, clenching release of your cresting pleasure.

G worked you through the best, more fulfilling orgasm of your life, hitting all the right spots inside you as he stroked you into mindless, boneless rapture, before finishing himself, giving a few more, hard thrusts before pulling himself from your abused, sore pussy to pump his cum onto your stomach, breathing haggardly through his satisfied grin.

“well hot damn. that was… that was incredible,” he said eloquently after a long moment of panting for breath and stroking each other lovingly, and you nodded sleepily, too sore and satisfied to even speak, turning to snuggle up against the tall monster that had laid down at your side.

He wrapped you in his arms, pressing his cracked face into your hair and breathing you in, before rising from the bed with a groan, slipping his hands under you to pull you up with him, into his arms.

“think we’d better get you washed up before breakfast. you are just _filthy_ , look at you; what in the world have you been doing?” he snickered, bending to kiss you as he shouldered his way out of your bedroom, and you snorted, rolling your eyes.

The same thing you’d most likely be doing again tonight, though your positions would most _definitely_ be switched. It was long past time that you put those handcuffs Undyne had gotten you to good use.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to leave comments and kink suggestions!


	15. Suspension

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 19
> 
> Sans is almost way too into it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Tumblr, for sneak peeks, skele sins, extra content, and other shenanigans.  
> http://thebananafrappe.tumblr.com/
> 
> My fanart blog, where you can find fabulous fanart made for my fics!  
> http://fanartcenteral.tumblr.com/
> 
> *Underlust belongs to @nsfwshamecave on Tumblr*

*Underlust*

* * *

The chains attached to the rig jingled under your weight, clanking together as you tried to gain your balance and bearings; it was difficult, as you could only reach the ground with the very balls of your feet, and your disorientation was not aided by the length of satin tied around your eyes.

You’d have called out for reassurance, but with your lips clasped around the ball gag in your mouth, all you could do was whimper pitifully.

You’d been left here, suspended from the ceiling by your wrists and naked as the day you were born, for nearly five minutes now, your partner having wandered off to “get ready”, and you were starting to get nervous, suspicions rising and your arousal, abundant from your foreplay, cooling on your inner thighs.

Sans was infamous for being unconventional in his tastes, and though he had done some pretty odd things in your time as his bedpartner, this was the first time he’d asked you to do something like this, a little “experiment” on his part.

You weren’t sure you were totally into is, either; your skin was getting incredibly sensitive, being exposed and anticipatory like this, having your control removed and your senses dulled… it was almost like he was doing this on…

*smack*

You nearly had a heart attack when a hard, bony hand came down across your bare ass, jerking against your bonds and jingling your chains again, and from behind you, in the darkness of your obscured vision, a deep, hearty chuckle rumbled, the monster you had just been cursing in your mind snickering at your expense.

“damn, that was quite a jump there, sweet thing. you must have gotten pretty distracted… just hangin’ around here,” he chortled, hands extending to trace tantalizingly lightly over your oversensitive, expectant skin, cupping the redness of your posterior, where he had slapped, and reaching up to pull the gag from your mouth, and you sucked in a haltering, embarrassingly needy breath, flushing and spluttering.

“Shut up, that’s your fault! Where did you go, I-I’ve been waiting!” you remonstrated, doing your damnedest not to arch back into his touch, but he wasn’t abashed, only laughing again with that self-satisfied, knowing, dark humor of his.

“i’ve been on the other side of the room, pet… watching your rub your thighs together and get more and more desperate for me,” he purred, leaning forward to breathe against your neck and press his rib cage to your back, the fur on his open vest tickling your skin and his hands rising to cup your breasts, squeezing and rolling them expertly in his half-gloved hands.

You gasped in both stimulation and affront, shame rolling over you at the thought that he had just been sitting in the corner of the room, watching you drip down your thighs in anticipation of what was to come, getting more and more turned on just thinking about it.

Asshole…

“You’re such a bastard sometimes, Sans,” you snapped, though the only heat in your voice came from the barely withheld moan in your throat, his fingers pinching your nipples and his hips rolling against your backside (gods, he was so _hard_ … had he been just as worked up by making himself wait?), and you knew he could tell, slick wetness at your throat signalling the appearance of his long purple tongue.

“aww, don’t be like that, princess. was just making this all that much better for us… just look at how _ready_ you are. how sensitive your body is to mine… how wet your tight little pussy is,” he growled, abandoning one of your breasts to run two fingers along your folds to accentuate his point, and you nearly squealed at the feeling of direct stimulation, at _last_ , squirming and shuddering in your bonds.

Gods, you were so ready…

“Doesn’t change the fact that you’re a giant douchebag,” you breathed, your voice trembling, and against your shoulder, you could feel his grin widen, your only warning before his fingers dove into your aching, needy core, sinking into you to the knuckle and drawing that stubbornly held back moan from your lips at last.

“and yet you keep coming back for more. guess being a douchebag doesn’t matter as long as i’m fucking you senseless, right?” he snarked poignantly, thrusting his hips against your ass in time with the slick of his fingers in and out of your grasping, soaking wet entrance, and when his thumb rose to brush at your clit, you gave over to him fully, your head dropping back onto his shoulder and your hips moving back into his.

“Sans, c’mon… you know I get grumpy when I’m over-stimulated, _please_ … stop _teasing_ …” you begged, grinding down on his fingers as well as you could with your dubious footing, your hands fisting in the leather cuffs wrapped around your wrists, and the monster behind you snickered darkly, pulling his fingers from you slowly to drag your juices along the exposed skin of your front, up between your breasts, and to your mouth, pushing them past your lips so you could taste your own desire.

“i do know that. and i think you’ve still gotta apologize for being a nasty little cunt before i give you a damn thing,” he commanded, the edge of a dominant, assertive snarl in his words, and you whimpered, the heat rushing in your blood spiking at his show of aggression.

“Yes, I… I’m sorry, baby. Please… have mercy…” you pled, bucking back into him, and he huffed out a chuckle, pulling his fingers from your mouth to lay his hand at the base of your throat, finally releasing your breast to reach behind you and undo his pants.

“alright, i suppose i can throw you a bone… you’ve been so patient after all,” he conceded laughingly, pulling himself from his pants, and the next thing you knew he had both of your legs spread wide in his hands, fingers dug into your inner thighs, and had plunged his thick, violet cock into your pussy as deep as he could, his iliac crests pressing against your ass and his pubis brushing your clit.

It was all you could do not to cum just from that, your mouth gaping and your toes curling at the frenzied pace Sans immediately set; you’d been so worked up, so hot from waiting and imagining and lusting, that you were on the edge already.

Your skeleton lover’s hot breath on your neck did nothing to help your state, merely accentuating the sensitivity of your skin and the trembling of your inner walls; the ties around your wrists, bolting you to the ceiling, assisted him in your position, easing the strain on himself and allowing him more time and concentration to not only focus on fucking you, as he had said, senseless, but to also whisper filthy things in your ear as he did.

He told you how your core felt around his cock, how tight and wet you always were for him and how much he _craved_ having you hilted on him every second of the day… he told you how much of a bitch you were, how much he liked making you work for your pleasure, how much he enjoyed watching you beg for him like a slut.

He told you how he was going to cum in you so much, and so hard, that you’d be dripping with his magic for hours.

Despite him clearly being as worked up as you were, and being the insatiable horn dog he was, Sans still drew out your coupling a full twenty minutes before he started to lose his composure.

He was pounding himself into you at an impossible pace, your moans and jolting keens of pleasure only spurring him onwards; he had just finished fucking you through a third orgasm, your body boneless and sweaty in his arms, when he arched to rip your blindfold from your eyes with his teeth, dragging it down to rest over your mouth.

“look at me when i cum in your fuckin’ pussy, lover. _look at me_ ,” he demanded, panting and desperate, and you turned your head to meet his intense, flaring gaze, purple fire sparking from his left eye socket and a tense, hungry grin lifting his mouth.

His cock throbbed inside you the moment you locked eyes with him, and he managed another three shallow, uneven thrusts before groaning, jaw drooping and slick, long tongue slipping between his teeth as he pumped thick, hot magic into you.

Sans collapsed against you, swaying you in your bonds and pressing open mouthed, saliva slicked kisses to your shoulder, before turning his head to meet you gaze again, sockets lidded and sleepy.

“damn, girl. you sure didn’t leave me hanging,” he joked, grinning lazily, and you stared at him, coming down from your high in an abrupt wash of exasperation.

“Sans, if you’re really going to pun at me while your dick is still in me, at least _try_. You used that one already,” you complained, groaning and dropping your head back on his shoulder, and he smirked at you, thrusting his hips and jerking a surprised moan from you as he sank further into you, a drooling string of his lilac cum dripping to the floor.

“if those are the stipulations, i guess i’ll have to try harder, won’t i?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to leave a comment or a kink suggestion!


	16. Squeeze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 20
> 
> Papyrus isn't prepared for your sext game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Tumblr, for sneak peeks, skele sins, extra content, and other shenanigans!  
> http://thebananafrappe.tumblr.com/
> 
> My fanart blog, showing off all the amazing fan art that gets made for my fics!  
> http://fanartcenteral.tumblr.com/

*Underswap*

* * *

This wasn’t how you’d planned on spending your afternoon.

You’d been intending to spend your weekend playing the new game you’d gotten, super excited to get started and get some leveling done, but Sans had fallen onto the couch next to where you were curled up with your controller, arm draped dramatically over his sockets, to bemoan his fate of having to clean the whole house alone. It _was_ his turn, but much as he loved order and cleanliness, he had plans to meet Alphys that afternoon, and didn’t want to be stuck cleaning all day when he could be “training”.

So he’d made a deal with you.

He’d already done most of the cleaning, all that was left to be done the kitchen and Papyrus’ room, but he had said, grimacing, that he’d be in Paps’ room until sunset at this rate. He always got so upset when he had to go in there to clean, he really hated it. And if you agreed to go in and tidy up for him, he’d not only be eternally grateful, but he’d do your share of the dishes for a _month_.

You couldn’t say no to that. You hated doing the dishes… and Papyrus’ room couldn’t possibly be _that_ bad.

You had thought that nearly four hours ago, and had only just now come close to the end of being finished with the den the younger, taller skeleton brother hid himself away in at night, dragging bags and bags of trash and dirty clothes off the floor and from the corners. 

You hadn’t ever been inside his room before, let in with a spare key Sans had given you as he ran out the door, in the entire time you’d been staying with the brothers, and hadn’t expected the true enormity of the job you had been tricked into.

Blueberry owed you waaay more than just dishes for this, all of his desserts for the next _year_ just for the sheer amount of his brother’s underwear you had had to kick into a laundry basket.

Not because they were dirty or anything, of course. You just really, really didn’t trust yourself to pick them up. They all had witticisms written on them, most of them sexual, and, naturally, belonged to Papyrus, who you’d been crushing on for as long as you’d known the lazy funny bones.

You’d kept your blushing, spluttering distance though, not wanting to mess up the dynamic of housemates you had with the skeleton monster… or the steady stream of girls that seemed to flock around him, simpering and pulling on the strings of his favorite hoodie and arching up to receive his smokey, bony kisses.

Jealousy pulled at your stomach, burning like acid, and you shook your head, snatching up another set of ragged orange converse from the floor of the closet you were kneeling in and setting them apart from the crumpled clothes littering the dark enclosure (gods, how many pairs of sneakers did he have? You’d thought he only had one).

You really had no right to your envy, as he belonged to no one, least of all you, and could do as he pleased… with whoever he wanted. You had that right too, though you were loath to use it, considering the attention you usually seemed to draw from the male population (you had some of the douchiest exes in existence)…

And considering how infrequently welcome any of your other male friends were at your shared house.

You’d have thought, if you didn’t think it was stupid and just wishful thinking, that Papyrus was jealous too, with how passive aggressive and sarcastic he always got with your gentleman callers; the normally easygoing, charming, friendly monster got almost downright mean when you brought a man or another monster over for dinner or just to hang out.

You’d asked what his problem was, once or twice, when he was shooting nasty comments and derisive jokes at your friends, but he always seemed to have a good excuse, like being tired from work or thinking it was funny himself or even just getting a bad vibe from the guy.

_“‘s my job to look out for my best friend, isn’t it?”_

You weren’t sure he was being entirely straight with you on that front, but you hadn’t ever questioned it, just keeping your opinions to yourself and your secret fantasies.

Nevertheless, you just really weren’t sure where the two of you stood, given how you seemed to toe around each other and avoid the delicate line between friendship and something else entirely. 

Sometimes he barely seemed to notice you as anything but one of the guys, hanging out with you and playing video games until 2 in the morning and jabbing elbows into each other’s ribs, telling ridiculous jokes and stories over a twelve pack of beer…

And sometimes you’d catch him staring at you, or he would catch you, or your legs would touch under the blanket you threw over the both of you while you played games, and neither of you pulled back. Sometimes, you thought he fell asleep on your shoulder on purpose. Sometimes, you thought he was going to close the distance between your lips when you unleashed a brand new, perfect pun on him.

Sometimes, when you fell asleep at night, you thought about him, and were still smiling when you woke up the next morning.

A flush dusted your cheeks, and you threw another handful of socks into the basket set next to you, then grabbed up an armful of shoes and stood so you could slide them into the rack that hung from the back of his closet door, pulling it to so you could fill the seldomly used organizing apparatus.

It didn’t matter either way. Papyrus was too much of a free spirit to be tethered down to just one person like you wanted to believe he was to you, well known to be a monster more interested in flings and casual relationships than anything committed.

He blamed his laziness. Sans blamed his ego. You? Well. You wanted to think he was just scared.

Sighing and sliding the last giant pair of shoes into the rack (he wore size 14s, so long that you looked like you were wearing clown shoes whenever you tried them on), you turned to look over the shadowed, once again organized walk-in closet, hands on your hips.

Finally, you could get back to your game. Your mind had been on it the entire time you’d been up here, besides when you’d been distracted by lurid thoughts of your incredibly attractive roommate, and you really couldn’t wait to-

*thud*

You froze, in your contemplations, when the sound of something heavy dropping to the floor came from the room beyond the mostly closed closet door, halting your thoughts and breath all in one.

What the heck was that? Had something fallen?

You made to turn and push the door open, to see what was going on, before you heard a shuffling against the carpet beyond it, two more heavy thumps, and the squeak of mattress springs compressing.

You swallowed, freezing even further into your place and listening, with wide eyes, as fabric shifted against fabric, followed by a long, heavy pause.

Was that Papyrus? Had he come home from Muffet’s early?

You were answered in your questioning when you heard an electronic beep, then the deep, languid voice of the skeleton monster closest to your heart speaking.

“sup, bro. nah, nothin’ wrong, just wondering if you’d seen the human. saw you cleaned my room, figured you’d been around the house long enough to know where she went.”

He paused to listen to the response from, surely, Sans at the other end of the phone, and your heart jumped into your throat, knowing you shouldn’t be listening in on his conversation (why were you just standing here, in his closet? You could come out, he wouldn’t be mad), but unable to stop as he continued, sounding quizzical.

“huh. yeah, thought that too. she’s been talkin’ about that game for months. but she’s not downstairs, or in her room. might have made a run for soda or somethin’. no, you don’t need to come look for her, bro. no. _sans_. calm down, she’s fine. i’ll keep a socket out for her, okay? i’ll call if she isn’t home in an hour. yes. no. no. okay. yep. bye.”

There was another electronic beep, a longer, more rustling compression of bed springs, and a very deep sigh, before your back pocket buzzed, nearly giving you a heart attack.

You calmed your breathing, one hand held to your chest and still, strangely, stock still in your roommate’s closet (you caught yourself thinking that it was a good thing your phone was on vibrate, so you wouldn’t be caught), before you dug your phone from your pocket and swiped the screen up, looking at the message you had received.

It was from Papyrus.

_*where u @, kid? came home early to p2. you down?*_

Your fingers moved to reply instinctively, to reassure him that you were fine, but then paused, a unique opportunity presenting itself. You flushed at the thought, at your daring, before replying.

* _Just had to run out to the store for some stuff. We can game as soon as I’m back. You know I’m always willing to go down on you, Paps :)*_

Innocent enough, you judged with a nervous smile, tension fluttering in your chest; it almost looked like a mistype, or an autocorrect. You felt like you were playing with fire even so, hands shaking in excitement and intrigue, then pressed send, hearing Papyrus’ phone ding a moment later.

Your blood rushed in your head, your heart pounding frantically at your daring and the strangeness of the situation both.

You didn’t know what to expect from this, honestly; it was entirely possible that he would completely ignore it, like he had that time you wore an extra short dress, or would even make fun of you for the slip-up.

What you didn’t expect was the quick, loud intake of breath you heard from the next room, followed by an exhalation that sounded almost _strained_.

“holy shit,” he breathed, his tone low and gravelly with something dark and tempestuous hidden in it, and a moment later your phone buzzed again in your hand, your fingers quick to open the notification.

You felt like you were going to tremble to pieces, blood rushing so quickly through you that you felt lightheaded as you read his reply.

* _cool. figured u just went out 4 a sex. what r u gettin? thot we had all the stuff you liked here_ *

You had to cover your mouth with the palm of your hand to keep from gasping, something you would normally blame on a typo standing out in the text like a beacon.

He had responded to your teasing in kind. He was playing along. Should you send another one back?

You spent perhaps a second thinking it over before you were already typing, trying to keep your breathing quiet and your mind steady. You failed miserably.

* _Nothing much, just some cupcakes and coffee supplies XD You know me; can’t stand the stuff without a ton of sugar and crap. We had some milk, but seriously… nothing is better than a nice, thick cream. Little orange flavoring, and I’ll be ready to stay up all night playing with you._ *

You were sure your entire face was red when you pressed send, your breaths haltering in your chest in your excitement, and you clutched your phone to your chest, feeling the pounding of your heart through your ribs. What the hell were you doing, there was no way this was going to end well…

Maybe it really had been a typo, oh noooo…

Your nervous, despairing thoughts disappeared as soon as Papyrus’ notification tone went off, accompanied almost immediately by a low, gruff growl that made your eyes shoot wide and your body rotate, needing to see if you could see him from the crack in the closet door.

Damnit, no, the crack was too small; you could see that he was spread out on his bed, back probably propped up on his headboard. The edge of the doorway blocked off his face and upper body, only showing his stretched out, extremely long legs and… and one hand, palming eagerly at the glowing, taut crotch of his skinny jeans.

You whimpered under your breath, heat shooting between your legs and making your knees weak. Dear _gods_ , was he…?

Your questioning, hopeful, extremely scattered thoughts shattered when you heard his voice, so much hotter and harder than you’d ever heard it; just hearing him talking, while he touched himself and read the words you wrote, turned you on to a degree that you were sure was going to melt the rubber on the soles of your shoes.

“oh, i’ll keep you up all night, you fucking tease…” he rumbled, his phalanges clicking against the screen on his phone as he typed out his reply; his other hand tensed on the crotch of his pants, his thumb brushing along his hidden length.

You were honestly surprised you hadn’t fainted yet, wildly turned on and astounded by his responses and lost in a haze of bliss and excitement and taboo voyeurism; all you were capable of was panting against your hand, held to your mouth, and waiting for Papyrus’ response.

You’d never opened a new text so quickly, when it came.

* _sweet. i’m cool w/ whatev, don’t hafta b anywhere in the morn. we’ll bang out a few stages, do some grinding. don’t want u 2 get shafted in pvp_ *

You bit at your lower lip, barely holding onto a moan at the thought and squeezing your thighs together, needing the friction it brought. When had it gotten so hot in the closet?

You texted back quickly, leaning against the wall next to the doorway to press your breasts against something, _anything_ , to get some stimulation.

* _Awesome ^_^ I appreciate the assist, Paps. I hate having to partner online, they’re all either douchebags or pigs and ride my ass too hard for being a girl. I like having you playing with me… you know how to treat a woman right._ *

That got an outright moan from the monster in the other room, his visible fingers rising to jerk his hoodie up, baring his spine and belt buckle, and to fumble with his belt, desperation in his motions.

“coy little minx… just fuckin’ say it… been waiting too damn long for this…” he grunted, yanking his zipper down and ripping his button open, and your eyes were glued to him, watching his hand disappear into the opened front of his pants with fascination and need.

The hand that had previously covered your mouth fell away, dragging down your front to grope at your breasts, trace your tight, incredibly sensitive abdomen, and cup between your thighs, feeling your wetness through your pajama shorts.

You rubbed at your entrance through the material, your eyes rolling back at the sensation, and nearly dropped your phone when you got another message, having been lost in your forbidden, tantalizing situation.

You did drop it when you read his message, though, shocked and numb with arousal.

* _if i knew what store u were in, i’d fuck u right where ur standing. hows that for treating a woman right?_ *

You weren’t nearly quick enough to catch the falling phone, and even as lost as you were in your mounting, incredible lust, you still cringed when the device hit the floor, far too loud for Papyrus not to hear.

The room beyond your small enclosure grew deathly quiet, after your clumsiness, not even a whisper of a breath betraying Papyrus’ presence; you held perfectly still, eyes wide and heart beating a million miles per minute, conflicting arousal and adrenaline pumping through your veins.

You heard his bed shift, then his heavy, deliberate footsteps, approaching the closet. You clutched at your throat, feeling beads of sweat on your flesh, and trembled, not knowing what was going to happen now.

Surely, he’d castigate you. Call you a freak for hiding in his closet, watching him touching himself while you teased him. Kick you out, of both his room and his house, if not just outright murdering you where you stood.

So when Papyrus opened the closet door slowly, looking down on you with raised brows and surprise, you could only stare up at him in fear, tears pricking at your eyes. 

This was it. He was going to… smirk at you?

You blinked, not sure of what you were seeing, but sure as sunrise, the tall, thin skeleton monster was grinning at you, his sockets narrowing into knowing seduction and his footsteps sure as he took another step towards you, filling the doorway of the closet completely.

“well… guess i won’t have to wait for you to come back after all,” he snickered, voice resonating with more than humor as his magic flared in his sockets, and he reached behind himself as he took another step, pulling the closet door shut.

The only light left in the closet came from him, standing more than a foot over you in the dark; his gaze flickered with orange magic, casting strange shadows over his smile, his clothes, and the close walls of the enclosure, and his pants, still undone, glowed with his desire.

You backed a step away from him, unsure and confused, but he followed after you, your phone clattering away and into a corner as he walked.

He backed you against the wall beside the door all too quickly, your breath coming out in short, jerky bursts; he bent over you, his elbow on the wall over your head, and brought his face close to yours in the pressing darkness.

His lazy smirk became a full blown leer, confidence and carnality in his gaze, when he breathed in too, his glowing, tapering tongue swiping beyond his teeth to drag across a sharp canine.

“you’ve been having yourself a grand old time in here teasing me, haven’t you? thought you were so clever… did you enjoy the show? sure smells like you did…” he crooned, bending over you to lick your neck and dragging the tip of his tongue up your throat and jaw to your ear so he could whisper in it.

“smells like you started without me.”

You couldn’t seem to find the necessary words to respond, suddenly speechless and breathless; Papyrus didn’t seem to mind, though, hands finding your hips in the dark to draw you closer to him, bending closer to nip at your earlobe.

“wondered how long it would take you to come on to me. thought i’d end up breaking first… but i just wasn’t sure. you’re so damn friendly, i didn’t know if you actually liked me or were just… being you. didn’t want to push you away, if not,” he muttered against your ear, pressing a kiss to your hair and sounding, for the first time you’d ever heard, vulnerable and unsure, and you pulled back to look at him, eyes sparkling with unshed, fulfilled tears.

“Paps… I thought the same thing, that you were just being nice. I was so scared that it was nothing, just me hoping…” you assured him, reaching up to trace the sides of his skull, and he chuckled ruefully, shaking his head and laying his forehead against yours.

“we’re both idiots, then. big surprise… we always knew i was a numb skull,” he joked weakly, clinging to you and sounding so grateful, so relieved, that you wrapped your arms around his middle immediately, burrowing your face into his shoulder.

He let out a muffled grunt at that, his hips making a tiny, forward motion as you pressed yourself against him fully, and you flushed when you realized what you’d done, looking down at his still parted zipper shyly, then back up at him.

“So sexting does it for you, huh?” you teased, and he scowled, his fingers tightening on your hips.

“i’ve been jonesing for you so long that i cream my pants when you eat popsicles. stars fuckin’ forbid you actually flirting. …were you actually gonna watch me whack it?” he pressed, his hands moving over your waist to clutch at your breasts, his smirk glinting with hunger, and you sucked in a tight breath, arching into him eagerly.

“I… yeah, probably. I was getting pretty excited too…” you whimpered, and he let out a sound somewhere between a moan and a growl, bending to kiss you roughly, needily, his tongue slicking over your lips before pressing inside to toy with yours.

He was pushing you backward as he did, pressing your back to the wall and sliding himself between your thighs; his hands only parted from your breasts so he could shove his fingers up under your tank top to cup them fully, his hips rocking against you desperately.

You ground against him too, one of his femurs pressed against your folds through your shorts perfectly, and you both moaned into each other’s mouths, clutching each other and trading breath and saliva and getting off on each other’s bodies.

There wasn’t time or the required concentration to remove clothes, in your matched fervor; he rutted against you just as hard as you rode his leg, both of you bucking into the other with mindless need.

He came first, jerking against you and squeezing you back against the wall with his greater weight and size; he didn’t leave you hanging, though, shoving a hand down your shorts to finger your soaking wet core into completion, your ecstasy claiming your body and pouring into his mouth as you sucked at his tongue.

You stood against that wall for a long, long moment, panting and clinging to each other and trading slow, sweet kisses, before Papyrus pulled away, sliding his hand out of your shorts and his bony lips away from yours reluctantly.

“shit, you drive me crazy. i haven’t dry humped anyone since i was a teenager,” he chuckled, flushing and opening the closet door to let you both out, and you wandered out of the small enclosure after picking up your phone from the ground on wobbly legs, collapsing onto his freshly made bed in blank bliss.

“Doesn’t look too dry to me,” you snarked breathily, nodding at the spreading stain on the front of his pants, and he looked down too before chuckling, pulling at the waistband to drag them off, his mouth lifted in a suggestive smirk.

“‘spose there’s no point in wearing them anymore then, huh? makes ‘keeping you up all night’ that much easier.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to leave a comment or suggest some sin!


	17. Size Difference: Big

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 21
> 
> Sans has a firm hold on the situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Tumblr, for sneak peeks, skele sins, extra content, and other shenanigans.  
> http://thebananafrappe.tumblr.com/
> 
> My fanart blog, for all the magnificent fanart that gets shown to me.  
> http://fanartcenteral.tumblr.com/
> 
> (Beasttale belongs to @get-rammed on Tumblr.)

*Beasttale*

* * *

His broad, thick ribbed chest rose and fell underneath you, a gentle humming, nearly a purr, coming from within. One of his large, taloned hands, claws sharp but gentle, traced up your bare back, ticking over the protrusions of your spine, while the other carded through your hair, untangling curls and keeping them away from the clotting, but still wet bite mark on your shoulder.

Your head rested on his sternum, legs spread wide around his thick pelvis… and thrust as far as humanly (and inhumanly) possible into your overfull, stretched out core, his cock throbbed, another splurt of magic flooding from him to spill into you.

You moaned at the sensation, spasming around the thick, far too large length lodged inescapably inside you (he’d warned you, before he’d taken you to bed, that he wasn’t easy to take, and that by the end you’d regret wanting to bone him), and Sans, his shuttered sockets opening to look down at you spread across on his wide chest, smirked.

“stars, look at you… absolutely fuckin’ destroyed. you regretting it yet?” he crooned at you, tracing a sharp fingertip down your jaw to tip your face up to his, and you looked at him with hazy eyes, lost in pleasure and the pressure of an almost intense amount of cum filling your core, unable to escape around the heavy, tight fit of his dick.

“N-no… just wondering how much longer… how much more…” you whimpered, twitching again as he shifted his legs, his firmly lodged arousal pulling out the slightest amount before sinking back in, and Sans chuckled, knowing that, by now, your legs were asleep and your abdomen expanded from the volume of the magic he was still pumping into you.

“another ten minutes or so, kitten. then we can get you cleaned up and healed,” he reassured you, brushing your lips with his thumb, and you nuzzled into his touch, one of your hands curling around one of his ribs. His tail coiled around one your ankles, stroking your calf, and you closed your eyes, letting out a sigh.

Despite the discomfort of your distended belly and the stretch of his cock buried in you, throbbing and intermittently leaking even more cum into you, you managed to drift off, soothed by his rumbling breaths and his own lazy contentment. 

You were jolted awake immediately by Sans’ hands on your waist, though, your entrance stretching uncomfortably as he struggled to pull his length from you; he grunted, chartreuse tongue poking between his fangs, then disentangled himself from your body at last, sliding from you with a slick, delicious stroke of released tension and smooth magic.

A gush of cum leaked from you the moment he was freed from your body, dripping to the bedsheets the pair of you reposed on, and he grinned crookedly at your whimper of stimulated pleasure, gently pulling you off his chest and heaving himself up.

He laid you on your back, crawling to your side, and brushed your thighs apart to watch his magic trickle from your abused pussy, something possessive and instinctual filling his gaze.

“haven’t bred anyone that good in years, pet. just… damn,” he growled, sliding a finger into you to coax another spurt of magic out of you, and you squirmed weakly, sore and somehow still turned on.

Sans didn’t play with you long, just enough to push you into a slow, relaxed orgasm, before scooping you up in his massive arms and taking you to his bathroom, switching on the light and starting the water for a bath while, at the same moment, rubbing his jaw along your cheek, hands running over your skin soothingly and softly. 

He was incredibly cuddly after sex, as compared to his former bestial hunger, and the change threw you a little bit, though you more than welcomed it, clinging to his bare bones and leaning into his touch. 

You needed something gentle after the way he had just rocked your world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to leave a comment or suggest some sin!


	18. Size Difference: Small

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 22
> 
> Brass is having some issues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Tumblr, for sneak peeks, skele sins, extra content, and other shenanigans.  
> http://thebananafrappe.tumblr.com/
> 
> My fanart blog, to show off all the amazing fanart made for my stories.  
> http://fanartcenteral.tumblr.com/
> 
> (Brassberry, Bitty Bones, and Tinytale belong to @ammazolie on Tumblr)

*Brassberry*

* * *

Brass sat with his back to you on your nightstand, shoulders hunched and gaze on the floor far below, surrounded in an aura of murder and discontent. You stared at him in alarm, hand drawn back against your chest and tears stinging your eyes. He had snapped at you, both literally and vocally, and you had no idea why.

He, of course, wasn’t the most agreeable of bitties, temperamental and overly possessive and given to his tiny, destructive rages, but he was still very sweet, had always been grateful to and appreciative of you, and the two of you had had a very good relationship since you had adopted him from that terrible owner he had had last.

But he had been in a dark mood the past few days, skulking and irritable and eating far too little for your liking, and just a few moments ago, you had reached out to him, trying to figure out what was wrong. He had, in far less eloquent terms, told you to mind your own business, and had snapped his sharp little teeth at your fingers, bristling at being touched.

You didn’t know what was wrong, and it was driving you crazy. You hated seeing him like this. You felt like a failure as an owner.

A single tear fell down your cheek, your breaths short and distressed, and you stared down at your lap, biting down on your wobbling lower lip. You had just wanted to help him. You had always wanted to help him. You... you _loved_ him, but sometimes it just felt like he only tolerated you.

Lost as you were in your self-deprecating thoughts, tiny hands touching at your balled hands surprised you, looking up from your miserable contemplation of your jean shorts to Brass’ serious, blank expression, standing next to you on your bed.

He climbed up onto your lap silently, hanging on to your tear-spotted shirt for balance, so he could reach your face, and wiped a hand over the streak of wetness that ran down your cheek, looking between his wet palm and your wavering, saline pooled gaze.

“What’re you cryin’ for?” he grumbled, wiping his hand on his pants and scrubbing at the rest of the tear track to dry your cheek, and you averted your gaze, sniffling.

“...I’m so worried about you, and I can’t help you.”

He let out a rumbling, annoyed sigh, glaring at you with both impatience and something softer, something you hesitated to call... appreciation?

“Momma, I told ya, ‘s nothin’ you can help with. ‘Kay? I’ve always handled it on my own, and that don’t change just cuz you’re obsessed with makin’ me so... happy,” he urged, looking tense but insistent, and you felt conflicting emotions over that, both sadness and curiosity pressing at you.

“...you’re not on your own anymore though, Brassy... I love you, I don’t just say that for fun. You mean so much to me, the time you’ve been here with me has been the best in my life.”

He looked at you sharply, his bony lips curling in a snap surge of temper, but your beaded tears, as well as your sincere, caring expression, seemed to take the wind from his sails, his stiff shoulders loosening.

“...love you too. But it’s still somethin’ you shouldn’t hafta deal with, you didn’t sign up for this when you brought me home...” he muttered, leaning his damaged skull against your cheek, and you looked at him quizzically, reaching up cautiously to stroke his spine through his spiked leather jacket.

“I signed up for _you_ , and everything that you came with. Your emotions, your needs, your troubles. Everything.”

He clenched his sockets shut at that, drawing in a hesitant breath, then seemed to give up, one hand rising to tangle into a drooping lock of your hair.

“...I’m in heat, momma. And I’m frustrated, cuz I can’t do everythin’ I want to relieve myself. Fuckin’ myself just don’t do it for me anymore,” he growled, his cheekbones flushing a deep lime green, and you blinked, pulling back to look at him better.

A heat, huh... you’d done some reading on it, obviously, trying to find out everything you’d need to know about properly caring for the tiny skeleton monster, but there really hadn’t been a lot of official information on heats, and in the six months you’d been with Brass, he’d never had one, to your knowledge at least.

Maybe he’d been taking care of them himself?

In any case, you felt both interested, curious, and intent, and nuzzled your cheek against your small charge, smiling gently when he leaned into you and pressed the smallest of kisses to your skin.

“...let me help you, baby. Not because I’m obligated, but because I want to.”

He stiffened again, making to pull away, but not before you felt his chest rumble, resonating with a needy, wanting growl. You, gently but insistently, pressed him back against you as he fought to separate himself from you.

“Please, Brassy. I love you, and if this will help you, I want to do it. Just tell me what you need, and I’ll do it.”

He paused at your pleading, scowling against your cheek and pulling on your hair, winding it around his fingers, then sighed, glaring up at you.  
  
“Fine. Don’t say I didn’t try ta stop you, though,” he snapped, shoving your fingers off his back so he could pull away to unbuckle his belt and undo his pants, then made a waving motion at you, silently telling you to lay back.

You did so, curious and watching his every move with a slight blush, something warm flooding into your blood as he crawled up between you breasts to kneel on your upper chest, pushing his pants down around his knees to bare an already erect, dripping, throbbing green cock.

He looked gruffly embarrassed, not meeting your eyes and stroking one hand along his arousal.

“If you really wanna help, you can... you know... suck me off. It’d take the edge off,” he murmured, again flushed with magic and hesitance, and though you were pretty hesitant yourself, wondering if you should be doing this, you dismissed your thoughts in favor of smiling gently at the small skeleton.

He needed this, and you definitely weren’t going to deny your companion what he needed.

As such, you parted your lips and extended your tongue to drag along the underside of the proffered erection, tracing his pelvis with the tip; he let out a grunt the moment that you touched him, thrusting his hips forward and reaching out to clutch needily at your cheeks, breathing in a sharp inhalation of desire.

“ _Fuck_ , momma... fuck, I need this...” he whined beneath his breath, scooting closer to your mouth and bumping his pubis against your lower lip, and you complied with his clear intent, closing your mouth around his cock and applying the lightest, wettest suction you could to him, unsure of how much stimulation he could take.

This was an odd situation, one you had never imagined being in before this, but it wasn’t unpleasant, and for some reason, Brass thrusting into your mouth, fingers clawing into your flesh and dick brushing against your tongue, was turning you on, wetness spreading between your thighs and heat pooling in your abdomen.

His plaintive murmurs and passionate growls weren’t helping, either, sending tremors of shocked desire running through you.

“Ff-fuck, yeah... so much better than my hand... you smell so good... ahhh fuck, momma... what I wouldn’t give to be bigger... so I could give it to you too... fuck you like those toys you think I don’t know about...” he panted, pounding his hips against your mouth and throwing his head back in heavy, clouded pleasure, and you sucked in a shuddering breath through your nose, whimpering and pawing at your needy core through your shorts.

He looked at you when he heard the slick sounds of your arousal, a smirk spreading across his bony lips.

“Looks like I ain’t the only one. Touch yourself, momma... cum for me,” he encouraged, the motion of his pelvis starting to become erratic and jerky, and you didn’t think twice, plunging your hand under the waistline of your bottoms to slide your fingers into your needy entrance, rubbing the palm of your hand over your clit while you fucked yourself.

Brass groaned when he felt the motion, something sharp and hungry in his gaze when he met yours, and pinched at your cheek to get your attention, green tongue sweeping between his sharp teeth.

“On second though, don’t. I wanna help you, after I’m done,” he growled, voice strained and tremulous, then dropped his skull against your nose as he came, whole body jerking as he spilled magic onto your tongue.

He thrust lazily against your lips once he was finished, sockets lidded and satisfied; your hand, though, only sped its motions, the sensation of his cum spread over your tongue and the knowledge of what you’d just done sending you into a needy frenzy.

He looked up at you, swaying from the intensity of your rutting, and grinned, pulling his cock from your mouth and pulling his pants back up before bopping you on the nose, surprising you into stillness; he smirked at your confused, lustful expression, passing a hand over one of your beaded nipples through your shirt as he stood and looked down at you confidently.

“I told you to wait, momma. I’m gonna help you get off. So why don’t you take off your shorts? Hard to eat you out with them on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to leave a comment or suggest some sin!


	19. Slow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 23
> 
> You cook up some trouble for Papyrus, and Sans approves wholeheartedly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Tumblr, for sneak peeks, skele sins, extra content, and other shenanigans.  
> http://thebananafrappe.tumblr.com/
> 
> My fanart blog, for all the beautiful fanart that gets shown to me.  
> http://fanartcenteral.tumblr.com/
> 
> Late late late T-T so sorry. You'll be getting two today, at least!

*Undertale*

* * *

Papyrus whacked your knuckles with the wooden spoon he held for the seventh time that afternoon, warding you away from his cooling cookies with his brandished cookware and his fearsome, if goofy, scowl.

“Human, I swear, you’re worse than Sans! You can have some after dinner, and not before! I love you, but I will not allow you to spoil your appetite!” he admonished, threatening you with the spoon again, before turning away huffily to check on the boiling pot on the stovetop, his apron swirling around his legs, and you pouted, folding your arms and leaning against the counter, sniffing hopefully at the wire rack of snickerdoodles there.

Damn, they smelled so good… unsurprising, given who had made them.

Sans chose that moment to lean around the doorway of the kitchen, looking in with a lazy, curious grin on his mouth.

“geez, my ears are burning. what did i do this time?” he questioned lethargically, slouching into the room to see what his brother was shouting about, expression brightening when his gaze fell on the cookies. “aw, score!”

He received a rap on the knuckles as well when he reached out to snatch one, a partially softened noodle remaining behind following Papyrus’ punishment, and the taller skeleton menaced him with his dripping spoon as well, scowling.

“You don’t have ears, Sans, and both you and my fantastically amazing but slightly annoying girlfriend had better mind yourselves! If you don’t, you won’t get any dessert at all!”

You snickered at Sans’ frown, reaching out to pat his back sympathetically as his shoulders slumped and he looked longingly at the cookies.

“He’s been fending me off for the past hour, the dictator. He’s wise to our tricks and wiles, too, so no go there,” you whispered to him conspiratorily, leaning one arm on his broad shoulders, and Sans chuckled at that, his own hand lowering to grasp, unflinchingly, at your ass.

“can’t say i’m surprised. we’ve been too _cheeky_ with him,” he snarked, smirking when you gasped at his attentions, and Papyrus shot you both the evil eye from the stove.

“You should both be ashamed, polluting my kitchen with terrible, tasteless puns and tomfoolery. Either help or occupy yourselves with something else elsewhere,” he grumbled gruffly, stirring the steaming pot of noodles he stood in front of, and Sans let out a short, sharp laugh, shrugging and squeezing your ass through your skirt playfully.

“i’d love to help, bro, but i’ve got my hands full right now. bet our favorite human would like to… help you out, though,” he suggested, looking at you from the corners of his sockets and trailing his fingers along the curve of your posterior to play along the inside of your bare thigh, dangerously close to the juncture of your legs, and you flushed, glancing at him in confusion.

What was he doing?

You glared at Sans, trying to sidestep the shorter of your skeletal boyfriends, but he only smirked, scooting with your escape attempt to trap you against the counter, his hand clutching at your thigh and his head drawing closer to yours, mouth pressing against your ear in the guise of a kiss.

“paps is lookin’ a little… pent up. why don’t ya show him a good time, hmm? he’s been so busy lately, he barely gets any time to relax,” he urged, your hair shifting as his grin grew at his suggestiveness, and you let out a yelp instead of the protest you meant to stammer, his fingers gliding up to draw along your folds through your panties.

Damnit Sans…

You really didn’t need incentive to want to please both of your monster lovers, the hard working, passionate Papyrus especially (you’d been planning to get the younger of the brothers on his own after dinner, to welcome him home in a very personal way), but god damn, was he making it nearly impossible to escape the growing need in your abdomen.

Papyrus really had been gone a long time… you loved Sans, and he was in no way an insufficient boyfriend or lover (unless there were chores needing done, at which time he was conveniently always missing), but you’d missed the other half of your relationship, the sweet, caring, adorable monster making you dinner.

Instead of thinking of all the reasons you should wait until later to come onto Papy, or even putting your seduction off until the next day, when he was less tired from traveling (he had just gotten home from cooking school a few hours before, and needed rest), you instead were crumbling under the motions of Sans’ fingers between your legs, hidden by the hemline of your skirt and stoking an inferno of craving for _more_ in your belly.

Papyrus looked up at your warbling outcry of pleasure, curious and concerned, but Sans had already abandoned you to turn and walk over to the kitchen table, leaving you trembling slightly against the counter and flushed with desire and confusion.  
  
He seemed to misinterpret your expression for one of discomfort, gasping and putting the pot lid on his pasta before rushing over to your, brushing your hair off your forehead with a gloved hand and bending to look into your eyes with clear worry.

“Are you not well, my love?! Your face is all red, and you are sweating and panting! Sans, what is happening? I must help her!” he cried out, wringing his hands and casting about for a solution, and Sans, seating himself in one of the chairs at the table unhurriedly, shrugged, closing his sockets and putting his hands behind his head.

“dunno, paps. why don’t you go sit her down in the living room? i’ll keep a socket on dinner,” he claimed, tapping a finger against the bony lid of one of his closed sockets (bastard…), and Papyrus sped you out of the room to obey so quickly that your vision blurred, finding yourself sat back on the couch seconds after being rushed from the cooking space.

Papyrus worried over you for a few moments, tugging his gloves off with his teeth to feel your temperature and check your pulse, and though his fretting was adorable and completely unnecessary, you had no desire for him to stop touching you, your blood only growing more heated as it rushed in your veins.

Your lanky boyfriend couldn’t find anything wrong with you, wondering aloud at why you still hadn’t cooled down or seemed to settle (you were shifting in place on the couch needily, driven nearly crazy by his light, constant touches), even when he ran to fetch you an ice pack and a drink of water.

Sans smirked at you from the table in the kitchen, though, knowing and evocative.

Eventually, Papyrus’ tending became too much, too bare and sparse in his worry, and you ignored the half of Sans’ grin that you could see around the edge of the kitchen doorway as you reached out to stop your worried boyfriend, a thermometer in his hand and a blanket thrown over his shoulder.

“Papy, sweetheart. I _promise_ I’m not sick. Like I said a hundred times… it’s a different problem,” you insisted, reaching out to stroke a finger down his defined jawline, and he looked at you quizzically, confused.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand. What kind of problem could you have that would put you in this state?” he asked demurely, tilting his skull, and you, too turned on to care about propriety or tact or class, raised one leg in your position on the couch to trail down his femur, lowering your eyelids seductively.

“One that can only be cured with the love of the strongest skeleton monster in the universe,” you purred, your hands running up your sides to grasp at your breasts invitingly, deliberately ignoring the snicker you heard from the kitchen; _that_ , Papyrus understood immediately, an orange blush flashing across his cheekbones and his breath choking to a stop in his chest.

He stood up quickly, spluttering and coughing and trying to compose himself.

“Well. Well. A-as your incredible and all knowing boyfriend, I of course knew that you were in a state of arousal, and only meant to spare you the indignity of falling to my charms so quickly and easily!” he blustered, looking like he wanted nothing more than to hide his face in his scarf, but you pulled him closer with your ankle locked around the back of one of his knees.

“It’s been so long, baby… and Sans is watching the noodles…” you crooned up at him, reaching out to pull at one of his wrists, and Papyrus only resisted for a moment, looking between you and the kitchen, before seating himself at your side, eagerly allowing you to clamber into his lap and straddle his hips.

He flushed even more deeply when you ground down against his pelvis immediately, hands settling on your hips and his jaw tight.  
  
“I can only assume you missed me quite badly, if you are this d-desperate…” he muttered, shuddering when you leaned forward to lick and nip at his cervical vertebrae, and you smirked against his smooth bones, hands stroking at his exposed spine and along his jaw.

“I did, honey. All I could think about was getting you back into my arms… even though I am proud of you and how well you’re doing. So… so proud. I want to reward you,” you murmured against him, hands descending to pull at the button on his shorts, and his sucked in a needy, heavy breath through his nasal cavity, humming against the backs of his teeth as his magic coalesced in his sockets, summoning the part of him that needed the most attention, after nearly a month of only phone calls to sate your desire for him.

He said nothing, seemingly incapable of speech, in fact, as you worked at pulling his long, already hard cock from the tight material stuck between the two of you, but once you had freed him and started rubbing your dripping, eager core against the length of him, through your panties, he let loose, his head leaning back against the back of the couch and the very tip of his tangerine tongue poking from between his jaws.

You were very aware of a second gaze on you, of more than just Papyrus’ magic thrumming in the air, but you made no motion to include Sans in your activities as you pulled your panties to the side, teasing yourself and your current lover with the tip of his cock.

If Sans wanted to join, he would; you’d had the brothers at the same time before, and the remembrances of those occurrences were pleasurable, to say the least. The last word that you would use to describe the older skeleton monster with was shy.

And if he wanted to just watch… that was fine too. You knew he had a thing for watching you lose your mind in pleasure, whether at his hand, your own, or his brother’s, and if the weirdest thing he did was get off while watching you get plowed, more power to him.

He was loyal, loved you, and always made sure you were taken care of. That’s all you cared about.

Your teasing didn’t last long, too excited and eager for Papyrus (he seemed to be in much the same state, whimpering, thrusting up against you, and clutching at your body greedily), and you lowered yourself onto him at long last, holding onto his shoulders and moaning in unison at the feeling of, at long last, being connected with him.

You were both sweating already, but your souls beat as one, one in desire and need and love, and when you moved against him, lifting yourself off his cock and back onto it, to the hilt, you moved slowly, undulating against his chest and pressing your lips to his bony pair, tracing the tip of your tongue against his.

He accepted your pace and affection eagerly, groaning into your mouth and allowing you to set the pace, and the two of you lost yourselves in a calm, slow, sensual lover’s embrace, your hands guiding him in his motion and his caressing your skin and hair and face with so much tender care that tears, actual tears, pricked at your eyes.

 _Gods_ , you loved these monsters.

When your ends came, they came together, coaxed into escalation and climax with gentle touches and kisses and whispers of adoration; he released his magic deep in you the moment you moaned for him to, keened against the side of his skull as you came undone in his arms.

You panted together on the couch, staring tiredly into each other and smiling like fools, before alarm shot over Papyrus’ face, his head shooting up to look at the kitchen.

You only wondered why for a moment before you smelled the smoke.

Papyrus lifted you off of his lap as gently as he could, in his rush to save his dinner, setting you at his side, boneless and lost in your afterglow, and doing his shorts back up as he sprinted into the kitchen, shouting at Sans as he ran.

“Sans, you said you would watch the stove, what happened?!”

“sorry, bro, didn’t know the fire was that high. got distracted by somethin’.”

“You… YOU ATE A COOKIE!”

“heh… couldn’t help it. had a sudden hankering for somethin’ sweet. my preferred snack was… occupied.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to leave a comment or suggest some sin!


	20. Orgy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 24
> 
> Four of a kind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Tumblr, for sneak peeks, skele sins, extra content, and other shenanigans.  
> http://thebananafrappe.tumblr.com/
> 
> My fanart blog, for all the crazy awesome fanart that gets sent to me.  
> http://fanartcenteral.tumblr.com/

*Undertale, Underfell, Underswap, Swapfell*

* * *

There was a time in your life where you’d thought, quite seriously, that you would die a dried up virgin, curled up in a tattered blue bathrobe and surrounded by cats. You’d already had named picked out for those cats too, from Tibbles to Mr. Whiskers.

Clever, you knew. But you had to have something.

You really just didn’t have a way with people, unable to be close with anyone without somehow messing everything up in your awkward social fumbling. Perhaps you were too sensitive. Perhaps you weren’t sensitive enough, at the same time.

Either way, you had always been alone, an oddity amongst the rutting populous of the words, left to your own devices and thoughts and occasionally morbid fantasies.

Maybe that’s why you’d fallen so easily into friendships with monsters… they knew. They weren’t exactly like you, of course, how could they be? They just _knew_.

You felt, for sure, that was how you’d started sleeping with a skeleton, though. There was a way about Sans, something behind his constant grin and easy manner, that told you that he had contemplated dying alone too, perhaps one too many times.

He’d thought you were ridiculous, naturally, when you’d tried to seduce him, fumbling and nervous, but he’d more than willing, even when you’d told him he’d be your first. Even when you thanked him, as though he’d held a door open for you.

Even when you were too nervous to undress for him, when the time came, begging for him to keep the lights off in shame.

He hadn’t told you he could see in the dark, that first night. You weren’t sure you’d have cared, honestly, with the way he touched and tasted and explored you. All you knew was, you’d had sex, you’d liked it, and you hoped he’d liked it too. Mission accomplished.

You hadn’t expected him to want more.

…you hadn’t expected to want more too.

He’d asked you out to the movies the next night, and of course you’d gone with him, the movie one you’d been wanting to see forever, since the first trailer. You’d seen absolutely none of it besides the first ten minutes, though, when you stumbled from the theater two hours later, panties crooked and twisted in your pants and blue, magical stains on the cuffs of your sweater.

The pair of you made it as far as the backseat of his sedan before going at it again.

It happened all the time. You’d try to hang out, playing video games or catching dinner or watching something on Netflix, and before you knew it you were in his lap with his tongue down your throat, or his head was between your legs, or you were bent over the arm of the couch, his cock buried in you to the hilt.

You were starting to think you were addicted.

You explored each other to the fullest, a friendship born of something far stronger than common interest between the two of you, but there came a day, and a question from him, that you simply hadn’t been sure about.

You had tried so many things with him, had learned the joys and downsides of sex ( _chafing_ was awful), but this… this had been scary. You were still nervous about your body, no matter how many times he told you how beautiful you were. No matter how he touched you, how many pictures he had of your bare flesh and curves, how the lights in his sockets fluttered and fuzzed with excitement and desire and affection when you stripped for him.

He wanted to try this, though. He wanted something new, something he’d never had before… and you were willing to do it. For him.

For him, you’d gladly be in an orgy.

He’d had you meet all the participants first, in public (at a coffee shop, of all places), where you could talk to them and size them up. They were all quirky, funny in their own ways, and all seemed to smoke habitually…

Oh, and they were all skeleton monsters.

One, a broad-shouldered, sneering monster that went by the moniker Fell, had a deep, heavy, Brooklyn accent and a shining golden canine, swore far too much, and made passes at anything that moved; despite his asshole demeanor, though, he was very intelligent, and could tell you the science behind renewable energy usage in the future of the auto industry like it was written on the insides of his bony eyelids. His jokes were lewd, but well-timed and hilarious, and he was surprisingly conscientious, pulling your chair out for you when you sat.

Another, a lanky, constantly smirking skeleton that preferred the name Honey to his real name, gazed at the world through lowered, lazy lids, spouted puns at the drop of a hat, and drank directly from a bottle of honey. He was constantly doodling, however, and showed you the designs for some truly ingenious traps that he planned to “accidentally” suggest to his brother later, spoke extremely eloquently about anything you asked him, and seemed to be quite the romantic, brushing a lock of your hair behind your ear and likening your beauty to the purity of flowers in spring.

The last, another tall, thin monster that went by the name Paps but really didn’t care what you called him (“besides late for dinner, heh”), was quite soft spoken and benign, spent most of the time the others were talking with his nasal cavity buried in a book, and had a bad habit of playing idly with the zippers on his stylish, tight pants. He let you see the book he was reading when you asked, though, revealing himself to be a fan of the classics (“chaucer was pretentious, but he sure as hell knew how to tell a story”), had a glimmer of secret, untold knowledge in his rusty orange gaze… and proved to be quite the tease.

They’d all had questions for you, about yourself and your likes and your life… but had all, every one of them, given you the dreaded once over when they’d shaken your hand, inspecting you, assessing you for their sexual appetites. You’d been so ashamed, so scared and nervous, even with Sans’ arm around your waist.

Much to your surprise, none of them had found you wanting. In fact, they had, seemingly, been unable to take their gazes off of you for the rest of your meeting, hunger and contemplative satisfaction in their heavy, lustful sockets.

They had each taken you aside and assured you of their excitement for your upcoming arrangement… had been sure to let you know _just_ how excited they were.

Fell had definitely been the most handsy, and drooled quite a bit in his lusts; he was an extremely competent kisser, though, despite that, and his gruff, deep voice had worked its own sort of strange magic on you, making your knees weak and wobbly.

Honey had left you panting and wanting, merely from backing you into a corner and whispering all the things he wished he could do to you in the middle of that coffee shop.

Paps, though… he had nearly brought you to full orgasm, just from running his tongue up your neck, nibbling at your earlobe with gold laced fangs, and rubbing you through your pants, growling his desire for you against your ear.

Needless to say, you had agreed to the “meeting”, suddenly incredibly into being passed around by the sexy, extremely libidinous monsters.

Once, you had thought you’d never be desired. You’d been convinced no one would ever want you, think you were attractive, or even use you for a night of pleasure.

Today, you were on your hands and knees in front of a skeleton monster, his thick red cock buried between your lips, while another lay beneath you, long blue tongue flicking at your swaying breasts and dick pounding into your already abused core.

Yet another skeleton knelt behind you, orange hoodie pushed up over his rib cage and cigarette drooping from his bony lips, sinking himself repeatedly into your ass, while the last of your bony lovers, tongue hanging wantonly from his sharp jaws, thrust his hips into your hand, sharp gaze on the cock sinking into your mouth.

Hands stroked over every inch of your skin, caressing and digging in and scraping; fingers dug into your hair, pinched at your nipples, rubbed at your clit. Magic crackled like lightning through the bedroom, dancing on your skin and from the splashes of cum already dripping from your lips and thighs, and your moans, gratuitous and exultant, could barely be heard over the groans and cursing exuding from the monsters quickly fucking you into mindless rapture.

Once, you’d thought yourself too shy for even sleeping with one person.

The next two hours, seventeen positions, and twenty orgasms convinced you otherwise.

You knew Sans’ tastes well already, his tendencies and kinks and lusts, but the others were a delight to learn, touching not just parts of you that you’d thought would never come to light, but also facets of your soul that you’d never even known existed.

Fell had a sadistic side to him, his claws and fangs becoming well acquainted with your skin; he wanted you to scream for him, to obey his word without question, and left handprints on your ass that didn’t disappear for a week. You learned, at his hand, how filthy and depraved you truly could be, and never forgot him forcing you to lick his cock clean after coming in your pussy.

Honey was a different kind of dominant, liking to watch you do all the work for him; he complimented you as you rode him and sucked Sans’ cock at the same time, encouraging you and whispering reassurance when you came undone in his lap.

Paps… Paps surprised you. You’d taken him for a quiet intellectual, and imagined his tastes would be subdued and slack. You were very, _very_ wrong. His voice never rose over a bass rumble, but you were riveted to his every word, his every command, with utter, complete attention, shivering with want and trepidation. There was a quiet malice in his tone, controlled ire in his thrusts, that reminded you of a coiled snake, energy bound in coils that would not spring unless provoked.

And when they sprung, he fucked you the hardest of all the monsters in the room, your hair fisted in his hand and his claws dug into your lower jaw, your cries of pain and pleasure driving the other skeletons wild.

The end of your long afternoon found you being bathed in both warm water and affection, Sans sitting at your side in the bathtub while your other lovers trailed out the door, thanking you profusely and kissing you and, more often than not, smirking at the rainbow of magic dying the water you laid in, sore and sated and sleepy.

Once, you’d thought you’d die a virgin.

Where you lay in the swirling water and remains of magical cum from four different monsters, you were the furthest from that sentiment that was humanly possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to leave a comment or suggest a sin!


	21. Tired

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 25
> 
> Sans is gonna take care of you, don't you worry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A REMINDER. YOU MAY NOT READ MY WRITINGS IF YOU ARE UNDER THE AGE OF 18. TURN BACK NOW. STOP RIGHT THERE. NO FURTHER.
> 
> My Tumblr, for sneak peeks, skele sins, extra content, and other shenanigans.  
> http://thebananafrappe.tumblr.com/
> 
> My fanart blog, for all the amazing fanart that gets made for my silly stories.  
> http://fanartcenteral.tumblr.com/

*Swapfell*

* * *

“Stop your squirming. You are interrupting my concentration.”

You stilled at Sans’ clipped command, obeying without a second thought; you had only been shifting into a more comfortable position, after all. You settled against your pile of pillows, reaching out to sip at your cooling mug of tea, and looked down at the skeleton sitting cross-legged at the foot of your bed, one of your feet held between his gloveless, sharp clawed hands.

His touch was gentle, though, despite his expression of distemper and the potential danger of his talons, his phalanges rubbing at your swollen ankle slowly, soothingly. He worked the tension and pain from your bones, practiced and as soft as he could be, and you hummed beneath your breath in contentment, hands draping over your distended abdomen.

He really had stepped up, since you’d discovered you were carrying his child; it probably shouldn’t have come as a surprise, though, considering how dedicated he was to everything that he did. Sans was a passionate monster, occasionally rough and rude, but always, 100% of the time, devoted to his chosen cause, whether it be his security position, his prize-winning tomato plants, or you and your welfare.

It became overbearing, occasionally, when he wouldn’t let you lift heavy things or make repairs yourself, but you knew it was because he loved you that he smothered you… and it really was quite helpful, now that you actually _couldn’t_ do some of the things you used to be able to.

Being the short, loud, overbearing monster’s soulmate came with its share of perks after all.

You laughed to yourself at the thought, giving yourself over to the comfort of his hands easing your discomfort, and Sans, from the floor, huffed to himself as he finished, setting your foot down gently and rubbing the palm of his hand up your calves, just enjoying the feeling of your skin on his bones.

“There. I hope my efforts have eased your suffering… though there would have been no need if you simply listened to me for once and put aside your occupation in favor of your comfort and the care of your body,” he grumped for the fourth time since you’d gotten home from work, standing from the floor and brushing minuscule particles of dust from his casual clothes, and you rolled your eyes, letting him help you scoot further up onto the bed.

He’d been nagging you about quitting your job and staying home to rest ever since your stomach had started to show, unused to not getting his way in things; only you and his brother dared to ever resist his commands, though Papyrus was far more brave in that regard than you were. 

The tall, quiet skeleton monster often went out of his way to infuriate his older brother, doing the exact opposite of what he had been told to do; he’d told you, once, that that was why he’d started smoking.

But despite Sans’ near constant fretting over you and your work, you were determined to keep your employment until you simply weren’t able to (you’d agreed to quit once you hit your third trimester); it would drive you crazy, to just lay around the house and do nothing, like he wanted you to.

Much as you liked pleasing your lover, he wasn’t getting his way this time.

As such, you merely scoffed at his complaints, rolling onto your side and stuffing your body pillow under your baby bump.

“It keeps me busy, sweetheart,” you assured him, snuggling into your pillow and settling your milk swollen breasts as comfortably as possible, and the diminutive skeleton monster fluffing your other pillows and smoothing his hands over your hair huffed, going around the other side of the bed to crawl behind you and wrap his arms around you, hands settling on your rounded stomach possessively.

“You could be busy here. You have your hobbies. …have you felt anything yet? Has he moved?” he prompted, putting aside his complaints in favor of querying excitedly after his favorite subject, and you sighed around a smile, one of your hands rising to cover his.

“He’s still very young, Sans. The doctor said we won’t be able to feel anything for another few weeks, and even then it will be small,” you reminded him, threading your fingers between his, and Sans scoffed, nuzzling his nasal cavity against your neck and pressing his body against yours from behind, sending a familiar warmth straight to your abdomen as his pelvis pushed against your backside.

“That “doctor” is a hack. He knows nothing about magic, or my son. He will be very strong, and will grow quickly… we will be able to feel him stirring soon,” he promised with pride and vigor in his tone, and you giggled quietly, flushed from feeling him against you and turning to press your lips against his smirking, sharp-fanged mouth.

“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered once you broke from his bony lips, the heat in your blood only growing at your contact, and as he looked back at you, you saw the realization of what you were feeling dawn in his sockets, his lids lowering and his magical gaze dilating.

His smirk became one not of pride, but knowing seduction, and his hands rose from your belly to cup your breasts, swollen so that his hands were overflowing.

“Ridiculous, am I? he queried with dark intent in his tone, his thumbs flicking at your already stiffened nipples through your loose shirt and his hips rolling against your backside, and the gasp that you let out, your head falling to your pillow and your hands flexing against the soft material and the hardness of his bones both told him all he needed to know.

Sans grinned rabidly at your wordless answer, magic crackling to life in his sockets, and he extended his azure tongue to lick a twisting, tantalizing line of rapture up your throat, squeezing your breasts softly, just enough to draw another impassioned breath from your lips.

“That’s what I thought. Know your place, mate… know who you are speaking to,” he crooned against your ear, his sharpened teeth nipping at your lobe, and you whimpered in desire, arching against him in silent supplication.

There was a time, in your relationship with the rough, commanding monster, that the sort of behavior he had been displaying earlier would have been out of character. He was an extremely dominant being, used to his place of power and prestige, and exerted himself over everyone, his lovers especially. Your first tryst with him had told you exactly who he was, nothing of his tastes and needs hidden as he fucked you facedown in the middle of his living room floor, hand fisted in your hair and orders for your submission on his tongue.

Much of your time in his bed had been that way, too, his control absolute but always, always rewarding; he had been, if possible, even worse when the two of you had mated, pairing your souls and connecting to each other for the rest of your days.

The moment that he had felt the second soul beating inside you, though, he had eased back, his domineering face falling far into the background in lieu of the caring, nurturing father that cared almost intensely for his mate and child. His sexual appetite didn’t diminish with the changes to your body, seeming almost to flare (which fit your surging, crazy pregnancy hormones just fine), but he was much gentler with you now, taking an astounding amount of care for your changing form.

His flare for domination didn’t disperse, however… and neither did his rules.

One of his hands rose to stroke the base of your throat, his claws tingling against your flesh, while the other lowered to pet the length of one of your thighs, bared in your haste to relax once you had returned home.

“You are always so desperate for me, these days… even the barest touch to your skin has you craving my cock. But you’ve been pretty mouthy today, haven’t you? So entitled… I think you will have to beg for your relief, lover.”

Your attitude and resistance melted away with each pass of his hand, your need flooding your body with lust and your panties with arousal all at once, and you complied immediately, squeezing your own breasts for stimulation.

“Please, Sans, _please_ … I’m sorry I was rude, please… I need you…” you whimpered, turning to press your lips up his jawline in quick, fervent kisses, rubbing your nipples and bucking your hips back into the agonizingly slow circulation of his pelvis, and he grinned wider, tracing his fingers up your chin to trail around your spread lips, at the same moment pulling your leg up into the crook of his arm, spreading you for him.

“So compliant when your pleasure is on the line… keep going. Tell me how badly you need it… tell me how you have longed for me…” he urged, hand lowering to play around your entrance, through your panties, and you moaned outright, trembling and scrambling to pull your shirt up over your breasts.

“You’re all I thought about all morning, baby… what you gave me this morning wasn’t enough, I need more, please…” you claimed (which was true, honestly; he’d only had time to lick you to a shaky, mind numbing orgasm that morning before the both of you had had to get ready for work and you’d been thinking longingly of the promises he’d made about what he had meant to do to you), your chest heaving and legs shaking, and your skeletal lover, smirking and pleased with his work, huffed a warm breath over the side of your face, moving a hand back to unzip his pants and pull his thick, throbbing erection from his pants.

Ahh… not as unaffected as he liked to pretend…

“And I’ve thought of you all morning too… thinking of how I would take you when I finally had you to myself again. Arch your back, precious… hug your pillow,” he commanded, pulling your underwear to the side to rub the head of his cock against your dripping, engorged folds, and you complied without question, panting and flushed and so, so ready for him.

He only teased you for a moment, knowing how desperate you could get with your hormones piqued, and entered you slowly, almost torturously so, spreading your core wide around his girth; you groaned in ecstasy just at having him sliding into you, the influx of blood in your abdomen and the height of your chemical reactions nearly forcing you into orgasm already.

Sans chuckled at your back, slowing to a stop when his pubis pressed against your sodden folds, before starting to rock himself into you, clenching your leg to give himself more room and watching, from over your shoulder, as your swollen breasts swayed and your face contorted in mindless pleasure.

You knew he was more satisfied when he could ride you hard, when he could drive you to your limits and beyond, when he could fuck you like the animal he was beneath the veneer of propriety and control he kept up, but this… that he was willing to give you such care and slow love, so patient and careful, made tears drip down your cheeks even as you came undone, spasming around his pumping cock.

He knew you weren’t hurt, how unstable your emotions were in your state, and merely kissed your tears away as he pushed your through your climax, and another, and another, before, at long last, speeding his thrusts to empty himself into you, groaning against your ear and speaking, in panted mutters, of his love for you.

The stars you both saw in your compounded pleasure, in the plateau and de-escalation of your joining, spoke more loudly than even your keening rapture, than his rumbling, haltering breath against your neck, and you lay like that with him for an unknowable time, lost in your embrace and love and magic.

You doubted, occasionally, if you had made the right decision. You’d doubted, once, whether you wanted to be tied to this monster forever, if you wanted to bear his children and see his smug face every morning. You’d wondered, before that, why you were falling for him and his loud, impassioned ways.

In this moment, with his hands on your stomach and his bony lips on your neck and his voice in your ears, you didn’t doubt anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to leave a comment or suggest a sin!


	22. Cage Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 26
> 
> Sans and Papyrus are large and in charge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Tumblr, for sneak peeks, skele sins, extra content, and other shenanigans!  
>  http://thebananafrappe.tumblr.com/
> 
> My fanart blog, showing off all the amazing fan art that gets made for my fics!  
>  http://fanartcenteral.tumblr.com/

*Underfell*

* * *

“Did I say you could walk, whore? _**Crawl**_.”

You shivered to a halt midstep, flinching and trembling, before obeying tremulously, sinking to your hands and knees on the cold, hard planks of the shed’s floor. A splinter sunk into your hand, but you kept silent, your head down as you moved slowly across the floor to the bars of your cage, eyes on the toes of the tall, menacing skeleton’s boots that waited your compliance from his position.

You could feel his hard, narrowed gaze on you, on your bared, wheal marked skin (he was fond of his whip, Papyrus), and you shuddered from more than just the cold of the perpetually freezing shack, your nipples hardening and a whimper sneaking from between your lips.

You heard a snicker from the shadows of the cage behind you, betraying the position of the older, if shorter, skeleton brother, his own narrowed, magical gaze glowing from the darkness with near murderous intent.

“ya hear that, bro? makin’ noises without permission again. fuckin’ bitch never learns her lesson,” Sans cackled with glee, insidious red and sharp gold glinting from his corner of the room, and Papyrus looked down on you with growing impatience, bony lip curling over sharpened fangs.

“So it would seem. So careless and _disobedient_ … such a stupid little slut. You forget your place so easily, so quickly. Perhaps we need to cement it in your mind, human,” he snarled, his crimson magic flaring in his sockets, and snapped his fingers imperiously, pointing to the ground in silent, haughty command.

 _Come_ , his action demanded. _**Obey** , or suffer_.

You moved to answer his summons as quickly as you were able, your limbs trembling and your lips quivering in fear; you settled on your knees at the bars of the iron cage, head bowed and teary, timid gaze on the monster before you’s boots.

Papyrus huffed at this, gaze hard and unforgiving, and stepped up to the bars himself, shoving one of his boots through them.

“You have been most uncooperative tonight, slave. So why don’t you put that sharp tongue to use? Clean my boots, and _well,_ and I will consider lessening your punishment,” he ordered bitingly, and you sucked in a humiliated, tremulous breath through your nose, hesitating.

This displeased both of the monsters in the room with you, Papyrus’ gaze snapping to skeleton behind you; Sans responded to the silent motion with anger and violence, stomping out of his corner to place the sole of his sneaker in the center of your back and push you down, pressing your face to his brother’s extended boot.

He curled a hand into your hair, forcing your face further into the shiny leather, nearly spitting in his rage; you were bent so low that your breasts, of no considerable size, brushed the wooden floor beneath you.

“wasn’t a fuckin’ request, bitch. get ta work, before we lose our patience with ya,” he snapped, lingering over you to ensure your compliance, and you nodded your head quickly before extending your tongue to lick over the material being forced against your lips, shuddering at the taste of mud and ash that clung to it.

Sans supervised your cleaning for a moment, ensuring that you intended to follow through, before giving your head one final push and stepping off your back to stalk around the cage behind you, watchful and punitive. Papyrus watched your progress as well, silent and judging, arms folding over his chest and jaw clenching. 

The weight, and heat, of both their gazes on your body while doing something so degrading, so disgusting, sent humiliating waves of heat over you, and Sans wasn’t blind to this, his fangs catching the light of the lantern in the corner as he laughed outright, his sockets trained between your parted, bare legs.

“i think she’s into it, paps… our little tramp’s cunt is practically drippin’ with want. this turn ya on, slut? huh? ya like this?” he derided, chuckling darkly as he paced up behind you, hands extending to tug your posterior higher, where he could see your soaked core with more ease.

Papyrus sneered at this information, cruelly amused as he jerked his boot away from your lips, quickly replacing it with the other and snapping his gloved phalanges again, indicating that you should continue, which you did reluctantly, attention split between the tall monster in front of you and his shorter, rougher brother behind you, who had dropped to his knees and had his hands spread over your ass, clutching invasively.

“I don’t know why you are always so surprised, Sans. You know how filthy and disgusting she is… how much she likes to be demeaned. I imagine she has been unable to think of anything but our cocks the entire night. Disgraceful,” he mocked, and Sans barked out a harsh, cruel laugh, abruptly shoving two fingers into your core, as deep as he could get them.

He snickered again when your back arched at the sensation, thrusting his phalanges in and out of your slick entrance as hard as he could.

“oh, i _know_ she has. can’t think of nothin’ but gettin’ every hole she fuckin’ has filled with monster jizz. cock hungry little whore… fuck, bro, her pussy is so damn wet… so fuckin’ ready. i think she might be tryin’ ta piss us off on purpose now, just so we’ll fuck her,” he postulated, his grin wide and dripping with red tinted drool as he forced a third finger into you, the motion of his hand against you sending sloppy, wet sounds through the shack.

Papyrus smirked in answer, pulling his now clean boot from the cage and looking down on you with dominating, hungry gratification.

“Of course she is. I would expect nothing less from such a vile creature,” he spat, then gestured to his brother sharply, pointing up at the ceiling as he fiddled with his belt buckle, undoing his pants leisurely.

Sans understood immediately, grinning rabidly as he pulled his fingers from you and fisted his arousal slicked hand into your hair again to tug you up from the ground, your knees weak and trembling as you rose.

The first thing you saw was Papyrus’ erect maroon cock, pulsing with his magic and protruding from the parted zipper on his tight leather pants; he pumped a languid hand along his considerable length, gaze heavy and superior while Sans chuckled against your back, his chest rumbling with his amusement.

The monster behind you leaned over your shoulder as you breathed in haggardly, his sockets lowered in suggestive, sadistic humor and his free hand rising to palm at your chest, cupping and squeezing a breast in his large hand.

“since you’re so hungry for it, why don’tcha get over there and fuck your tiny titted self on my bro’s cock? put on a good show, too… ya wouldn’t wanna bore us,” he crooned, his slimy red tongue sneaking between his fangs to lave up the side of your neck, then shoved you up against the bars of your cage, stepping back to watch the “show”.

You clung to the bars to regain your balance, shivering and panting in both exertion and want, then dared to raise your gaze to meet Papyrus’; the tall skeleton monster glowered back at you, imperious and cruel.

“My brother didn’t say to stare at me, slut,” he growled, stepping up to the bars and thrusting his bared cock through to rub against your hip, glaring down at you impatiently, and you swallowed nervously, halteringly turning yourself and bending to try to work him into your core, rubbing your folds on his hot, throbbing length.

Sans grinned, where he stood, saliva trailing down his jaw as he watched you attempt to take his brother, palming at the tented front of his shorts.

“that’s right… back that ass up, bitch. get up on your toes, you know the deal,” he commanded, licking at his teeth hungrily, and you could only obey, clasping at the bars behind you for balance as you rose to the balls of your feet, finally high enough to sink yourself onto Papyrus’ cock.

He slid into you easily, given your arousal and Sans’ fingering, and you had to bite your lip to retain your silence, his dick filling your core completely, pressing against your cervix. You had to still for a moment, following impaling yourself on him, attempting to get used to his size, but Papyrus had no patience or interest in your comfort and bucked his hips against you roughly, leering savagely.

“You are here to service me, human, not to dawdle. _**Move**_ ,” he demanded, folding his arms across his dully shining breastplate, and you swallowed back the needy moan that built in your throat at his treatment before doing as you were bidden, pulling yourself up his length and sinking back onto him as quickly as you could.

It was a difficult position to maneuver, considering how much taller Papyrus was than you and the blockade of the bars between the two of you, but you managed adequately, and certainly enough to please not only yourself (you were getting, if possible, even wetter, barely holding back your groans of ecstasy), but both of the brothers as well, the cock buried in your core twitching and throbbing in pleasure and Sans’ hand on his crotch moving faster.

You were starting to lose yourself in the humiliating pleasure, giving over to the need growing in your abdomen; the monster behind you seemed to be doing the same, his clawed hands lowering to clasp at your waist and his hips pressing forward to give you more to work with as you fucked yourself on his cock, grunts of satisfaction leaking from his parted fangs.

You felt your end approaching, growing despite your conditions, speeding your blood into a heated frenzy, and…

“for fuck’s sake, paps, are ya fuckin’ done yet? i’m freezin’ my dick off over here.”

You halted in your motion, frozen and shocked as you looked up at the frustrated monster across from you, his hand stuffed down the front of his pants and his magic flaring in distemper… and burst into laughter, sagging in your position with your hands on your knees, wheezing for breath and letting tears of hilarity spill down your cheeks.

Papyrus let out a groan of annoyance, leveling a glare at his brother.

“I knew you’d ruin this somehow. Why did you break character, Sans? It was just getting to the best part,” he growled, cracking his jaw and sounding pouty and petulant, and Sans threw his head back and sighed heavily, pinching his nasal ridge.

“cuz like i fuckin’ said, my dick is freezin’ off. why didn’t we do this inside the house? it’s cold as balls out here,” he complained, shivering in emulated exaggeration, and Papyrus snarled at his older brother, shifting his hands on your hips while you chortled, unable to stop laughing.

“Because the human wanted to experiment, remember? She explicitly said…”

“well, she can explicitly take a flyin’ leap, i’m cold and tired of waitin’. when is it my turn?”

“You… you don’t have skin, you can’t get cold! And you just had her this morning, don’t be so greedy.”

“i sure as fuck can feel it when icicles are linin’ up on my cock. and what does that fuckin’ matter? i want her again.”

Papyrus matched Sans’ impatient glower, magic sparking in the air between them… then huffed, shrugging and reaching through the bars to pull you up, jerking you out of your amusement and directly back into arousal by thrusting his cock deep into your pussy.

“Fine, then get over here. There’s room for you too, I suppose. Just don’t get in my way,” he snapped, aggravated and anxious to get off, and Sans, not needing any other invitation but that, pounced, stalking across the cage to press his body to yours and his saliva coated mouth against your neck, fumbling with the zipper on his shorts in his excitement.

The moment his cock was free, thick and throbbing in his need, he grasped your thighs and lifted you up against the bars of the cage, settling your back against the cold iron and pressing the head of his arousal against your already full entrance, grinning rabidly and leaning back to look in your lidded, excited eyes.

“ya ready, doll?” he grunted, rubbing himself through the slick of your dripping arousal, and you nodded eagerly, chest heaving in your ardor, and Sans smirked, leaning forward to kiss you as he pushed himself into your core, stretching you wide around both himself and his brother.

All three of you groaned in impassioned satisfaction, the fit so tight that you could barely comprehend both of the monsters inserted inside you, but you didn’t have long to think on it, the impassioned males sandwiching you against the bars of the cage pumping themselves into you needily. It was all you could do not to cry out in the pleasure-pain of their motion, overfull and pushed to your limit but caught up completely in the sensation of both your lovers fucking you boneless.

Papyrus finished first, the closest to his end of the three of you; he sank his fangs into your already marred and scarred shoulder as he came, thrusting into your core as far as he could to fill you with his magic.

The sensation of him pumping his cum into you pushed you over your tantalizing limit, shuddering and jolting through your orgasm in forced silence (the brothers may have been fantasizing with you, but they still had their rules, and if they had demanded your silence, they meant it), and in front of you, clutching at your thighs with sharp claws and desperate desire, Sans held out for another few thrusts before releasing his pleasure as well, burying his teeth into your opposite shoulder as he emptied himself into you.

The three of you lay draped over each other for a long moment, panting your pleasure and sated desire in foggy clouds into the cool air of the shed, before Papyrus pulled himself from you with a lurid moan, leaving you, impaled and dripping thick strings of crimson cum onto the wooden floor, on his brother’s cock.

He looked on the display with extreme satisfaction as he tucked himself into his pants and righted his clothing before strutting into the cage through the unlocked door, bending to press a gentle but smirky kiss to your spread lips.

“Good girl,” he praised, raising a hand to brush a hank of hair from your forehead, and you leaned into his touch affectionately, still shivering in pleasure from your orgasm.

Sans, not to be outdone, leaned forward to kiss you as well as he finally slid himself from your drooling pussy, handing you into Papyrus’ able arms while he fixed up his own clothes.

“yeah, ya took it like a champ, darlin’. we’ll hafta do **_that_** again, it was savage as fuck, heh… but maybe inside the house next time,” he complimented gruffly, sending a lighthearted glare at his taller brother, and Papyrus rolled his gaze in his sockets, sighing and covering your naked body with the blanket they had brought out with them, set next to the shed door.

“You aren’t going to let that one go, are you?”

“nope.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to leave a comment or suggest a sin!


	23. Creepy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 27
> 
> Sans has never met anyone like you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A REMINDER: NO ONE UNDER 18 CAN READ MY CONTENT. BEGONE.
> 
> ALSO. THIS ONE IS KIND OF ON THE WEIRD SIDE. SORRY ABOUT THAT. I CAN ONLY GO WITH THE PROMPTS, YO... I GUESS SOME PEOPLE ARE INTO BEING SCARED? 
> 
> My Tumblr, for sneak peeks, skele sins, extra content, and other shenanigans.  
>  http://thebananafrappe.tumblr.com/
> 
> My fanart blog, for all the glorious fan art show to me!  
>  http://fanartcenteral.tumblr.com/
> 
> (Horrortale belongs to @sour-apple-studios on Tumblr.)

*Horrortale*

* * *

“are you afraid yet?”

You sucked in a shaky breath, the sheer coldness of the air sending stinging pain through your lungs and goosebumps across your skin; the bark biting into your back was sharp and freezing, like shards of ice, broken glass, his bared, bloodstained fangs.

Sans stood over you, trembling in need and desperate hunger, his single, crimson iris blown wide and pulsing in his damaged, shattered skull. Electric blue drool trailed from his parted jaw, mixing with the carnage of his kill and dripping onto the front of his already gore smeared t-shirt.

His breath huffed from him in frozen clouds, redolent of magic and bone and iron, and inches above your head, buried handle deep in the trunk of the tree you leaned against, his ax shone in the late evening light, one of his hands still clutched around the splintering but polished wood.

His other hand hovered over the side of your face, twitching and clawed and stained with his demented lust.

“are you _afraid_ yet?”

He asked you that question so often, you’d almost forgotten what it really meant. Afraid? The world you lived in, the life that you clung to, the horror that surrounded your every waking moment, was fear, dripping with vitriol and life blood and rot. 

The creature that had just chased you through the woods and now had trapped you against an old, long dead pine was terror incarnate, capable of so much worse than his repeated questioning.

Yes. You were afraid. …but not in the way he meant.

You should have been. He’d given you every reason to be, in the time since you’d fallen into the hell that was the Underground. In that place, it was eat or be eaten. The monsters trapped there were starving, longing for meat and flesh and blood to consume, endless in their desire for _more_.

In fact, the only reason Sans himself hadn’t made a meal of you had been because of his brother, a far taller and kinder monster that had taken you in as a pet, a curiosity of sorts. You made sure not to draw attention to yourself while in his home, to always cling to his side, to avoid being left with Sans and his watchful, intent eye.

Papyrus had to leave eventually, though, had had to attend to duties that you could not… and had left you alone with the older, crueler, _hungrier_ skeleton brother.

You’d been sure that you wouldn’t survive to see your savior and protector’s return.

Instead of dismembering you, though, Sans had only stared, hard and silent and curious. He had made you incredibly nervous, sitting in the dark, dank living room and watching as you did chores. He hadn’t moved for nearly two whole hours before he had stood, stalked to where you were folding clothes, and yanked you up from the floor by the arm, staring murderously into your eyes with a wide, mad grin on his face.

He had traced the tip of his ax across your throat, not enough to draw blood but enough to ensure you could feel its sharpness, and had asked his question for the first time.

“are you afraid yet?”

You had been. You had been more afraid than you’d ever been in your life. You knew what he could do with that ax… you knew what he could do with those grinning teeth, with his large, cruel hands. But still, you had shaken your head, determined to stay brave. Determined to defy him and his apparent need to intimidate you.

He had been dissatisfied, but had let you go, returning to his blank, silent staring. Papyrus had been outright stunned to find you in one piece when he had returned from his duties, but had been incredibly pleased, springing around the room in great, thundering leaps and bounds while Sans, smiling, always smiling, had only stared.

He had watched you every day since then, and had tested you endlessly, pushing you into danger and near death situations and without fail, every day, asked you his question, staring into your eyes with impatient need.

“are you afraid yet?”

You always answered no, even if you were. Especially if you were. You never showed him weakness, never let him win… even when he had threatened to throw you to the Temmies. He had held you over their pit by the neck while the beasts foamed and spat and cried out in their hunger, staring and smiling and always, always asking.

“are you afraid yet?”

No, you never gave in, and in time, you started to feel that, perhaps, he didn’t actually want your fear. He had been upset by your resistance, at first. He had been angry, a few times, that you refused him your screams and tears and terror. The longer you were trapped below ground with the monsters, though, the more you came to see (or hope, at the very least) that Sans was never, these days, displeased when you held your head high and denied your fear.

He looked almost proud, now. Like he expected nothing less. Like that was the only thing he wanted to hear.

Because, you postulated in the depths of the night, when Sans retired to his own room and finally stopped watching you, he was probably tired of everything from the mice to the boss monsters of the Underground being afraid. Of everyone being so afraid all the damn time. Of him especially.

He _liked_ that you weren’t afraid… or at least pretended not to be.

It had been only a month ago that you had discovered just how much he liked that, though. It had been a month ago when he had come to you in the night, had hovered over you in the darkness, his gaze pulsing and glowing with a light that you weren’t familiar with.

With hope. With a need that had nothing to do with his never-ending hunger. With a desire so bright and fierce that it summoned his magic, spilling from his bones in blue flares and sparks.

“are you afraid?”

Sans’ question had been a whisper that night, heavy with anticipation and a loneliness that you had barely been able to comprehend; you had hesitated before answering, before giving him the response you always did, knowing that this was different. That he hadn’t come to hurt you.

He had been almost pleased, to discover that he had taken your maidenhood, licking the blood from between your thighs that his rough, needy thrusts had spilled; he had not been repentant, either, proud to have you to himself.

Had taken you two more times that night, just to ensure that you understood that too.

That night had been the first, and certainly not the last, that he had come to you, slaking lust and a different sort of starvation in your flesh… it was almost every night now, that you had the large, intimidating skeleton hovering over you on your dirty, old mattress, clutching at his bones and arching into his hard, unforgiving body.

You had expected today to be no different, almost looking forward to having his rough, sharp hands on your bare flesh again, so much gentler than he seemed capable of. 

You had been out gathering firewood, wandering from the normal path you usually took to look out over a large field of frozen flowers (they looked almost like buttercups), and had seen Sans in the middle of a feeding frenzy. He had caught a rabbit monster, and had been tearing into its throat with his teeth, spattered with blood and dirt and dust.

He had seen you after a moment of staring, had seen your expression, and had stood from his catch, his smile dropping from his face for the first time that you could remember. 

He had seen fear in your eyes, and you knew it.

You had run from him. You had run, not knowing what else to do. Surely, now that you had given yourself away, he would end you. You were little more than a handy distraction to him, after all… nothing more than another bloody feast to be, prolonged only so he could have something warm to thrust his cock into.

You had cried, not wanting your life to end even as you had heard him chasing you. You had wept, stumbling and shuddering in your long hidden fear. Not of him, no. You didn’t fear him, only the reality of your mortality in this world of monsters. Only of one day becoming the mess of broken bone and flesh that he had been sinking his teeth into.

And you had ended up here, ensconced in Sans’ presence, surrounded by the smell of blood and death and your own fear, his gaze hard and his question, demanding and desperate, echoing in your ears.

“ **are you afraid yet**?”

You were afraid. Your knees could barely support you, you were so afraid. You didn’t want to die. You wanted to go on, befriending the ugly, twisted creatures of this world and setting up traps with Papyrus and clutching at Sans’ bare ribs while he thrust himself into you and breathed against your neck and drowned, endlessly, in your fearlessness.

And so you raised your tremulous gaze to meet his, the tears clinging to your lashes blurring your vision, and shook your head.

Sans stilled at your indication, not even breathing, before surging forward, shocking you when his hard, heavy, large body pressed you back into the tree. His hand met your skin, soft and shaking; the trace of his fingers left behind streaks of drying blood as his phalanges circled your throat, littered with healing scars from his sharpened teeth.

He pressed you back against the trunk behind you, bending to meet your fearful gaze.

“…you are, don’t lie. i know fear, human. i can smell it on you… see it in your eyes. but are you afraid of **me**?”

He sounded despondent, as though he didn’t care either way, but his expression betrayed him. He still couldn’t smile, couldn’t keep up his facade, and your heart ached at the betrayal in his voice, the heartbreak that threatened his deep, rumbling voice.

You trembled before reaching for him, touching the cracks that descended from his shattered skull; you leaned forward, pressing your lips to his flat grimace.

“No. Never of you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to leave a comment or suggest a sin!


	24. Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 28
> 
> Papyrus pops SOMETHING.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Tumblr, for sneak peeks, skele sins, extra content, and other shenanigans.  
> http://thebananafrappe.tumblr.com/
> 
> My fanart blog, where you can find fabulous fanart made for my fics!  
> http://fanartcenteral.tumblr.com/

*Underswap*

* * *

Papyrus looked, for the forty-eighth time, at the square of guaze taped to the small of your back, curiosity and interest burning in his sockets. His long fingers shifted on his knee impatiently, the tv white noise in the background; his foot tapped at the floor too, rhythmic and restless.

You smirked, turning the page in your book, knowing perfectly well that your boyfriend was dying from suspense, wanting desperately to know what was beneath the cover on your flesh. You hadn’t gotten a new tattoo in nearly a year, and he was practically vibrating out of his khaki shorts with interest. You knew why, of course…

Papyrus had been fascinated with your tattoos from the moment you’d met him.

To be honest, you could understand why. Being made of bones, he couldn’t really get any, beyond the henna dyes and face paints he looked at on occasion at the store. He loved the designs, the stories they told, the intricacy or simplicity of their swirling forms.

Most of all, though, he loved the fact that they had been carved into your skin, permanent and beautiful, like scars painted into art.

That was before you’d moved in with him and his brother, when you’d only been friends. That had been before he’d taken up the habit of pulling your sweaters up your stomach to trace his phalanges over your inked skin… before he started running his hands along your marked thighs and arms and neck. That was before he’d taken you to bed, bared your body entirely to his sight… touched every one of your tattoos with his fingers and gaze and long, glowing tongue.

Made a few marks of his own, on your shoulders and thighs, as his body joined to yours in the oldest, most fluid dance known to man or monster.

Monsters were strange creatures, when it came to markings. You learned, during your time spent with the monster community, that they used such things as pledges, contracts that would never fade. Bites and scratches, scars and bruises, ingrained into flesh for as long as their centuries lasted. Each had special meaning… each told tales of adventure and love and passion and conquest.

Tattoos had never been accomplished by their people. Tattoos were new to them… and an incredible turn on, apparently, if Papyrus’ frequent and fervent exploration of them was anything to go by. 

You’d never felt sexier than when naked on his bed, his bare bones pressed to your inked flesh and his gaze dragging over every line, every curve, every detail with incredible relish, his long, throbbing cock hard against the inside of your thigh and his voice a gravelly, possessive thing.

You’d wanted, as time went on, to connect with Papyrus in a different way, to carve part of him into your body as well; you’d been together for years, so long that Sans had started making a lot of noise at his brother about finally stepping up and “Making an honest human out of you” (whatever that meant), but you knew what would mean the most to him.

What would stay forever, be among the art he admired most.

You’d gotten the work done in secret, from a monster artist that promised magic in every blot; you’d picked something of his to portray as well, wanting this to be more than just his name sprawled across your skin. You wanted him to know just how much he meant to you… that you meant to dedicate your whole life to the lazy, if loving, skeleton.

You really couldn’t help but tease him, though. He did the same to you so often… turnabout was fair play.

Finally, it became too much for him to bear. Papyrus paused the television and turned to you on the couch fully, sockets narrowed and expectant.

“enough playing around. what did you get?” he queried needily, sounding a little more snappy than you’d expected (he must be even more curious than you’d thought he would be… perfect), and you let out a dramatized sigh, sliding a bookmark into your book before setting it down and looking to him with a coy grin.

“Why don’t you come find out?” you invited alluringly, turning your back so you were kneeling on the couch cushion you’d been sitting on, bent over the arm of the sofa, and Papyrus, practically salivating, didn’t need to be told twice, shuffling closer to you and gripping the edge of the the bandage, bared by your short tank top.

He pulled it away in one motion, surprising a yelp from you, and fell still immediately at the revealed ink, the skin around it mostly settled and even after hours of tactful care. He stared, silent and motionless, for so long that you started to worry, turning to look at him tentatively.

“I… I thought you’d like it, since you, well. Since you like them so much already, and you know, we’ve been together so long… thought I’d add something of you. Cuz I love you, and all,” you murmured shyly, a sick feeling worming into your gut (what if he didn’t like it? You hadn’t thought of that…), and Papyrus, sitting behind you with one of his long legs curled under him, the other hanging over the edge of the sofa, finally moved, shifting to kneel on the couch.

His hands rose to touch your bared skin, tracing careful fingertips over the Gaster Blaster now carved into your skin, its sockets alive with glowing orange magic that trickled, in living waves, over its skull and from its spread jaws. A moving, breathing representation of him, spread across a backdrop of the night sky and his favorite constellations.

You couldn’t see his expression, from your angle; he was too tall, and hovered over you in stony silence, only the bare brush of his hand and his weight concaving the couch cushions betraying his presence, until he broke the silence with a deep, surprisingly gruff chuckle.

His breath was suddenly on your neck as he bent further over your reclined body, his hands coming down on the couch arm on either side of you; his pelvis pressed against your backside, his ribcage meeting your upper back.

Papyrus laughed again, the rumble of more than just humor echoing through his hollow chest.

“you marked yourself _for_ me. you marked yourself with ink and magic, for the fuckin’ _world_ to see, with **_my_** gaster blaster. with my _stars_. do you… have _any_ idea what you’ve done?” he whispered, exhaling against you hotly, and you stiffened, suddenly very worried.

Had you stepped over some boundary and not known? Was this an extreme faux pas, for monsters? Oh shit…

“No, I… I’m sorry if I offended you, I just…” you were quick to excuse, flushing in humiliation and chagrin, making to get up from the couch, but the lanky skeleton monster’s arms on either side of you suddenly became immovable, iron bars trapping you against him.

He leaned further over you, his mouth an inch from your throat; you felt his magic activate without seeing it, orange sparks jumping from him and his long, sinuous tongue snaking between his jaws to trace the line of one of your tattoos, trailing up the side of your neck.

“how could i be offended, sugar? you just ensured that _everyone_ will always know that you are mine… my human. my _gorgeous_ little human… finally mine. stars, you have no idea how long i’ve wanted to be a part of your marks,” he crooned against your skin, hands sliding across the material of the couch to clutch at your hips, pulling you back and into his growing arousal, and now you were flushing for a different reason.

You squirmed against him needily, grinding back into his pelvis, and he grinned against your throat, stroking his thumbs across the new tattoo again as his other fingers snuck beneath the waistband of your shorts, pulling at them indicatively.

“‘spose this answers my question for me, hmm? just need to set up a date now,” he muttered huskily, thrusting against your extended ass, and you sucked in a breath laced with lust and want, your mind hazing into rapture and your hands grasping at the hem of your tank top, pulling it up over your heaving breasts.

“Question? Date? What… ah… what are you talking about?” you whimpered, wriggling your hips to assist him when he pulled your shorts and panties down over the curve of your posterior, smoothing his rough phalanges over your ink stained skin, and Papyrus leered, pausing to dig something out of his pocket before setting it in front of you on the arm of the sofa, resuming your mutual disrobing immediately after.

It was a small, open box, an engagement ring nestled inside.

“i’m sayin’ yes, in case you’re wonderin’. eloquent proposal, by the way. really got to the meat of it,” he snarked, pinching your ass at the same moment as his other hand released the fly on his jeans, and you both groaned and gasped, tears springing to your eyes.

You’d, of course, considered marrying the monster more than once, and had known doing this was far more than just a tattoo, was practically a promise; knowing that he had been on the same page, so much that he had been carrying a ring around, for _you_ …

“I love you… I love you so much… even if you make dumbass puns when you should be screwing me,” you snickered through your tears, reaching out to touch disbelievingly at the shining ring in the box in front of you, and Papyrus chuckled as well before pulling his pants down just enough to free his considerable length, rubbing himself against your folds haplessly.

“you knew what you were getting into, shorty. quality humor comes with the territory,” he reminded you before pressing himself into you, the slide of his cock into your core slow and languid, drawn out to milk every delicious whine and moan that he could get out of you from your lips.

He pressed his bony lips to your ear when he had fully sheathed himself in you, pelvis pressed to your ass tightly.

“and i know what comes with mine, too… these gorgeous tits and the best ass i’ve ever seen in my damn life and the hottest sex in the world. y’know. and that little smile you have when you’re sleeping, and the way your hair moves in the wind. your laugh. the sparkle in your eyes on a moonlit night. that too,” he crooned, touching again at the tattoo spread across your lower back and leaning his skull against the side of your head, and you nearly sobbed, wishing he’d put you on your back for this so you could hold him.

What a dork. What a goofy, lazy, cheesy, handsome, amazing, amusing, lovable dork.

“Just fuck me already, Paps… you can compliment me later,” you laughed tearfully, turning your head to press your lips to his cheekbone, and he let out a snicker, turning his head to match your kiss with his own as he obeyed, pulling his hips back before sinking back into you, your stimulated moans mixing on your shared breaths and dancing tongues.

Sans was going to kill you both for having sex on the couch again, but at the moment, neither of you cared about the repercussions, too caught up in your mutual pleasure and the height of your emotions, the cloud of love and rapture that carried you both away.

He moaned your name against your neck as he worked you up to and through your orgasm, and you whimpered his as he rocked himself into you, losing yourself to the feeling of his body against yours, to the thought of being with him for the rest of your life, and spiraled into a second orgasm when he gasped and spilled his magic into you, clinging to you and kissing you desperately and murmuring “i love you”s against your lips.

Rubbing his thumbs against your tattoo again, while you clutched the ring box on one of your hands, joined and happy and looking forward to the f…

“what do you think of a wedding in april? no foolin’, just thought i’d _spring_ it on you.”

“I’m going to kill you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to leave a comment or suggest a sin!


	25. Foot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 29
> 
> Sans isn't playing around this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Tumblr, for sneak peeks, skele sins, extra content, and other shenanigans.  
> http://thebananafrappe.tumblr.com/
> 
> My fanart blog, where you can find fabulous fanart made for my fics!  
> http://fanartcenteral.tumblr.com/

*Underfell*

* * *

Sans leaned back in his armchair, fingers laced together behind his skull, to consider the ceiling, tracing the spidery edge of a hairline crack running through the plaster uncaringly. It was good to be king of his own castle, humble though it may be. He had everything he wanted, could possibly need. Good food, all the machinery he could ask for to tinker with, a willing, constant partner for his bed... it couldn’t get better.

He grinned at that thought and the wet, eager sounds coming from his lap, looking back down at the pair of beautiful, panting humans licking and sucking at his cock hungrily, relishing the sight of dripping wet tongues against his throbbing magic.

Or maybe it could get better. He’d been wrong before.

Sans, a rumble of pleasure rising to his slithering, saliva dripping tongue, thrust his hips forward minutely, hands dropping from his head to thread through both of the humans at his feet’s hair, stroking and petting encouragingly as they worked to pleasure him, their tiny moans and slurping only making the heat rushing in his magic surge.

“stars, you two look gorgeous down there... _fuck_ , that’s sexy,” he groaned, shuddering in ecstasy as a hot, wet mouth closed over the head of his dick and sucked, and from the floor, hand buried between your bare legs and tongue climbing the shaft of your monster lover’s cock, you hummed eagerly, lost in not just the thrust of your fingers into your dripping core, but in the enjoyment Sans was getting from this as well.

You loved seeing him lose himself to pleasure, to see his gaze roll back in his sockets when he came or hearing his moans pitch in his varying degrees of arousal. You especially loved leaving him breathless, blowing his mind (heh) with brand new things that he’d never tried before... which had led you here, sharing the thickness of your boyfriend’s dick with your friend.

You hadn’t been sure he’d even be into this, as he’d never mentioned being interested in a threesome, but your friend had assured you he would be more than down for it.

“All men dream of having two people slobbering all over their dicks, honey. I can guarantee he’s thought about it.”

Sans had been shocked when he’d come home from the auto shop to find the both of you waiting for him, already naked and welcoming him to indulge. He’d been nervous, too, looking at you hesitantly, shying away from looking at or touching your friend, trying to hide the tented front of his shorts.

You’d assured him that this was for him, though... that you wanted to make him feel twice as good, that you wanted him to experience everything that he’d ever dreamed of... and he had pounced, one hand on each of your asses as he’d kissed you hungrily, growling desire and excitement against your lips.

Sans hadn’t disappointed, either, giving himself over to the pleasure of having two eager mouths and two sets of hands at his disposal, and had explored your friend’s body with his hands and tongue while you’d run your tongue over his femurs and twitching, girthy cock, taking your turn in his lap afterwards and almost immediately getting off on the excited, starving look in his magical, sparking gaze.

He was into it, _way into it_ , and you loved it.

Another rumbling growl escaped the skeleton monster’s mouth, hanging open to allow the tip of his tongue to drape over his fangs, and you pulled away from his dick for a moment to take a shaky, needy breath, licking your lips and running a hand up his leg.

“I want you, Sans... I’m so wet for you...” you whined at him, the sloppy sound of your own arousal slicking along your fingers resounding between your bodies, and Sans smirked down at you, reaching out to run the back of his hand down your cheek, before seizing hold of your chin, jerking you closer to him with a hard frown playing around his fanged mouth.

“what was that? i thought i heard my name from ya... and you don’t have permission ta use that right now,” he growled, playful but punishing in his role, and you jolted, having forgotten that you were indulging another of his fantasies today. One of his absolute favorites...

“I’m sorry, master. Please forgive me...”

Sans grinned at that, releasing your chin, and beckoned with one hand, indicating for you to stand. His other remained curled in your friend’s hair, guiding their mouth further onto his cock.

“we’ll see ‘bout that, human. for now, get up here. straddle my face. been feelin’ a bit hungry... think i’ll have myself a snack before the main course,” he murmured heatedly, stroking a winding, teasing finger down your body as you stood obediently, and you nodded your head eagerly, dawdling for a few moments while figuring out the logistics of your climb before clambering into his lap and pushing yourself up his body, eager to feel the breath wafting over your skin between your legs.

Sans helped you ascend, his hands curling under your thighs to lift you, and after a moment of repositioning, you were kneeling on his broad shoulders, dripping core over his face and your hands braced on the wall behind his easy chair. You were panting from the exertion and excitement both, and Sans, one hand clasped on your ass to keep you in place, spread your folds with his other hand, gazing luridly up at the feast presented him.

“fuckin’ glorious,” he crooned, licking over his teeth quickly, before extending his tongue to draw up the entire length of your pussy, slowly, tantalizingly swathing you with his saliva and the slick expanse of his tongue before swirling the tip around your clit, grinning widely at the warbling moan that escaped you at the contact.

He made a second pass, rolling the length of his slimy, hot tongue against your entrance, and you panted out his name again without even thinking, forgetting yourself in your pleasure as your eyelids drifted shut.

He snarled from his place between your legs, pulling back from your folds to glare up at you from between your thighs, his hand on your ass pulling back to slap it so hard you jolted forwards in shock; you glanced down at him guiltily, whimpering.

“what did i just fuckin’ say, bitch? stars, you forget your place easy,” he reprimanded, swatting your posterior again, and you let out a shaky breath, legs shaking in your perverse arousal. He smirked at that, cruel and vengeful, and snapped his free fingers at your friend, their lips still wrapped around his dick, indicating that they get up as well.

“now you’re in fuckin’ trouble. _now_ , ya get to ride my face while my other little whore gets ta rides my cock. and if you make a single fuckin’ noise... if you cum before me... there’s gonna be hell ta pay,” he commanded, scooting his legs together to give your friend room to mount him, and you had to bite your lip to resist moaning out loud at his subjugation, at the sensation of his hand coming down across your already sore ass again.

You nodded silently, hearing the shift of material, the wet slide of skin against magic, and a groan of pleasure heralding your friend sinking onto your monster lover’s cock, and shifted your legs further apart to push yourself against Sans’s protruding tongue, now still and waiting for your compliance.

You rubbed yourself against the slick surface, trembling at the difficulty of the position and the incredible stimulation both, jumping at the feeling of him punishing you again, his hand stinging across your ass.

You dared not make another noise as you ground your core against his face, listening to the motion of your slick wetness accompanied by the sounds of rough, hard sex from behind your back and occasionally the slap of his hand over your reddening posterior; this was more difficult to achieve than you’d thought it would be, considering how all of those noises combined were turning you on to an extreme that had your head spinning.

You weren’t aided any, in your growing, helpless arousal, when Sans had had enough of your needy thrusting into his mouth and dove his tongue into your pussy, undulating the long, sinuous magical appendage inside you to stroke every one of your erogenous areas; he only made the mounting need to cum that much harder to resist (which was probably his plan, now that you thought about it).

You were squirming above him now, unable to sit still and barely able to bite back your moans; your friend, behind you, was keening in ecstasy, the motion of the chair beneath you signaling that Sans was thrusting up into them as hard as he could. The sound of bone slapping against wet flesh, knowing he was fucking them desperately, was almost your undoing, your core clenching around the skeleton monster’s stroking tongue.

You held off as long as you could, though, hoping they would finish soon so that you could too, and felt, through the reverberations of Sans’ mouth against your folds and the pitch of your friend’s moans, their end come together, their motion stilling and, lost in his orgasm, Sans’ tongue slipping from your overstimulated core.

The two of them panted together for a moment, the monster below you sending huffs of hot, erotic air against your soaking, quivering entrance (gods, just his breath was making you quake; you needed to cum, and soon), before a satisfied grin grew across his spread jaw, his fingers snapping at your friend again.

“aight, sweetheart... up ya get. got somebody else that needs ta have a seat in my lap,” he crooned, hand combing affectionately through their loose hair, and your friend dismounted him obediently, moaning at the sensation of his thick, still hard cock sliding from them.

Sans gave their ass a parting tweak, smirking, before glancing up at you, his sockets narrowing.

“c’mon then, slut. get down, it’s your turn. bet you’re desperate ta fuck yourself on me... go on, move,” he barked, swatting your ass one last time before moving his hands to your waist to help you down from his shoulders, and you wobbled down with little difficulty given his strength, settling with your legs spread around his pelvis, his dick pressed to your folds.

You looked up at him hopefully, thrusting against his girth, and he leered at you, hands rising to cup your breasts roughly.

“i can see how bad ya need it... so fuckin’ greedy. go on then... get on my cock. rules still stand though. you make a sound, or cum before me, and you’ll have another thing comin’,” he threatened, satisfaction in his domination resonating in his deep, rumbling tone, and you nodded eagerly, scooting forwards and leaning your torso against his ribcage to push yourself down onto his cock, the thickness and hot, wet insertion alone nearly sending you over the edge.

Gods, how were you going to keep from coming?

He didn’t move beyond settling his hands on you, one on your upper back and the other on your bruising ass, cupping and squeezing habitually as you started to thrust yourself onto him, your eyelids lowering and your teeth digging into your lower lip; he wore an expression of such intense pleasure, such imperious satisfaction, that you couldn’t meet his gaze, settling your head against his sternum and almost sobbing in relief at finally being filled.

You knew you weren’t going to make it the moment he started scraping at your spine with his claws, his smile so wide he had to know what he was doing.

You tried to keep your orgasm at bay, tried to clench your abdomen, think of Jerry in his swimsuit, _anything_ to stop it, but tipped over the edge when he bent his head to lick up the side of your neck, collapsing against his chest entirely and quivering in your release, crying out in rapture and completion.

You were roused from the height of your pleasure by him chuckling cruelly, his fingers sliding under your chin to bring your hazy, heavy gaze up to meet his. His smirk was evil, his fangs glinting with punitive fervor as he clicked his tongue disapprovingly, his other hand clutching punishingly at your ass, pushing you down further onto his cock.

He only grinned wider at your overstimulated whimper, snickering harshly.

“you are just not cooperatin’ today... so damn disobedient. what am i gonna do with you? ...keepin’ ya on my cock til you can’t cum anymore seems fair.”  
  
He glanced at your friend, who was watching your dynamic with a wide, amused grin, and winked at them.  
  
“sorry, kid, but looks like round two is outta the question. need ta punish my bitch. ain’t that right... bitch?” he excused, salacious and hot, before looking back at you from the corner of his sockets, thrusting his hips up into you. You let out a wavering moan in response, heat already rebuilding in your abdomen in both humiliation and anticipation.

“Yes, master.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to leave a comment or suggest a sin!


	26. Rough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 30
> 
> Fresh needs to let his frustrations out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, guys! Internet troubles and the like T-T I'm doing the best I can, and will finish up all the prompts I promised in the coming weeks.
> 
> My Tumblr, for sneak peeks, skele sins, extra content, and other shenanigans.  
> http://thebananafrappe.tumblr.com/
> 
> My fanart blog, for all the glorious fan art show to me!  
> http://fanartcenteral.tumblr.com/
> 
> (Underfresh and Sansy Fresh belong to @loverofpiggies on Tumblr)

*Underfresh*

* * *

“heyyo, dudes and dudettes! how’s it hanging, compadres?”

Ugh.

One of these days, Fresh was going to be the death of you.

You weren’t sure how it was going to happen. Either you were going to blow both yourself and him away in a surge of emotion and annoyance, or he was just going to bring about the end of the world with his swaggering and “bro’vado”.

You didn’t know which would be more appreciated... but you really wished at least one would happen, and soon. You were going to scream if you had to listen to one more word out of his conceited, flamboyant mouth.

And yet he continued to speak, continued to exist, perhaps in direct spite of your thoughts.

Fresh certainly seemed to enjoy your surging annoyance (and he had only just gotten there a moment ago, appearing in a swirl of rainbow color and bared, grinning teeth) as he propped his skateboard on one broad shoulder, sauntering directly into the area of the bar that he knew you were serving tonight, plopping into a chair at the bar and making finger guns at the other patrons, who had turned to stare at the brightly colored, flashy monster.

His shuttered gaze, covered by his gaudy sunglasses (YOLO indeed), followed your steps as you emerged from behind the bar and brought a tray of beers to a nearby table, his grin only widening when you deliberately ignored him.

“yo yo yo, wassup? it’s a bangin’ night out on the town, amirite?” he said cheerily to the bar in general, swinging his skateboard down to lean against the bar and propping a casual elbow on the shiny wooden surface next to him, and a few of the other customers smiled back at him nervously, while the rest shook their heads and turned back to their own business.

You stayed away from him as long as you could, dawdling around your empty tables to straighten the salt and pepper shakers, but eventually, with enough stink eyes from your manager, you dragged your feet over to stand next to the humming, smirking skeleton, his fingers tapping away on the top of the bar patiently and his necklace, bearing the monogram SWAG, catching the light from the dimmed overhead lighting.

“Good evening... sir... what can I get for you tonight?” you asked him through gritted teeth, pen held against your notepad so hard that you were mildly afraid you’d break it, and Fresh tilted his skull, his leer sharpening at your tone.

“i’m feelin’ some of your rad-tastic wings tonight, cuteness... and a bottle of your super fly chili sauce. need something sick and spicy, since you’re still not on the menu,” he ordered flippantly, shooting you a pair of finger guns and a pleased grin, and you huffed, rolling your eyes.

“Oh, I’m on the menu, _sir_. Just not yours,” you muttered so only he could hear, not even pretending to write anything in your notepad, and his smile tightened, fixed and hiding a flash of temper, surprising you. He only struggled with it for a second, though, before his playful smirk was back, his fingerless gloved hands rising into a shrug.

“playing hardball, are we? cool cool, jazzed to be in the know. guess i should be straight up with ya too, then, sugar sweet...” he informed you casually, swinging around on his stool to lean both of his elbows on the bar, before glancing at you from the crack behind his sunglasses, his pitch black sockets, lit with bare pinpricks of white light, sending a chill down your spine and a frightened stutter into your heart.

“ ** _i’m not in the mood for arguing tonight_** ,” he growled through his bright, playful grin, dropping his airy, cheerful manner in his warning, before pushing his novelty sunglasses back up his nasal ridge, hiding his shadowy gaze.

“if you could keep that funky fresh fact in mind for me, it would be super fabutastic. thanks, hot stuff; you’re a real pal,” he dismissed, tone again dipping into joviality, and you nodded mutely, startled by the sudden change, and went to bring his order to the kitchen, gooseflesh breaking over your neck and your knees knocking slightly.

On the outside, Fresh was a juvenile, silly skeleton, dropping slick lingo and flashing hand signs straight out of the 90s, cruising around town on either his skateboard, his Heelys, or both, as appeared to be the occasion tonight.

He was an indominatable jokester, unleashing puns and practical jokes on any and all in his general vicinity, and flirted like it was his job, though you had never seen him actually take anyone home with him, much less even touch one of the women he managed to charm with his odd ways.

Except for you. He seemed to have a special place in his empty chest for you, and had been trying to get in your pants for months… or so you thought, at least. He always took your rejections and dismissals with a grain of salt, shrugging them off and not taking them personally, even though he should have.

You’d have thought he didn’t care at all if he didn’t keep coming back for more.

He made it a point of pride to come into the bar that you worked at every Friday, just to annoy you and to attempt to draw you into his charms, given the nicknames and invitations he slid your way as greasily and ironically as he could manage. You’d have asked your manager to keep him out of the bar, just for some peace of mind… but he loved the guy, he was at the very least entertaining, and the skeleton did tip _extremely_ well.

_“and that’s not the only tip i got for you, scene queen… if ya catch my drift.”_

Ugh. And he always had the perfect one liner, too. If he didn’t annoy the crap out of you, you’d have been impressed.

His reaction tonight had surprised you for good reason, after all… normally he’d have cracked a joke after your rejection, said something about coolio radicalness, and started stacking coasters into a house he could knock down with quarters. He was always cool… always suave and easy going.

Well.

Usually.

You knew he was capable of far more than his easy, chill demeanor portrayed, had seen him lose his temper before; Fresh had a darkness in him like you had never seen from any other monster, a deep well of shadow and cruelty that he kept under tight wraps, and when he had been pushed to his limit, like he seemed to be tonight, it was better not to trifle with him.

You wondered, as you filled a plastic pitcher with beer, what had happened to put such a deep crack in his façade.

You kept an eye on the upbeat, sociable skeleton monster as you made your rounds, watching as the usual crowd of women, wooed by his charm and easy flirtations, gathered around his stool, yearning for his attention. He seemed to be in a fine mood despite his warning of earlier, licking his requested basket of wings clean in no time, but every once in a while, you would see his smile go rigid, when someone would touch him. Heard his laugh go just a note too sharp, if he was getting too crowded.

This was unusual for Fresh, decidedly so, though he was never really comfortable with having people too near to him. He was used to being the center of attention, the life of the night crowd, and generally put up with the occasional brush of the hand or the crush of the, at times, too crowded bar.

Tonight, he wasn’t doing so well.

There was a part of you that was starting to grow concerned for him, as he pulled away from yet another accidental touch to his shoulder as someone edged behind his barstool to get to their table… there was a part of you that also didn’t quite like how much attention you were paying the monster, how well you seemed to know his moods and how the changes in his face and body language were distracting you.

It was your job to watch your customers… but not like this. Were you more interested in him than you had thought? Was your annoyance with his usual attitude merely hormones reacting?

You weren’t sure how you felt about that.

Nevertheless, there came a point when you couldn’t keep yourself from commenting on his state, or avoid at least trying to save him from all the attention, and came to the tightly grinning skeleton’s rescue, shooing barflies and tramps away from his area under the guise of clearing up dishes and wiping the bar clean.

Fresh let out a heavy, put upon sigh the moment that he was free of the attention, leaning his forearms on the bar and bowing his head, under the cover of his rainbow hued ball cap. His persistent, always present smile faded, in his repose.

He looked… tired. Worn out, more than just physically.

You kept your distance as you swiped crumpled napkins and empty food baskets into the bin you held, glancing at him from the corner of your eye as you did.

“So, uh. You don’t seem quite up to the bar scene tonight,” you observed in a murmur, reaching carefully over in front of him to grab his basket as well, and he sighed again, rubbing a hand over his face, before turning to you with a renewed smirk, tilting his skull to the side.

“guess i’m not super into it. that obvious, sweets? or did i finally finagle my way into your heart? seems like you haven’t taken your fabulicious eyes off of me the whole night,” he observed, tapping a finger against his jaw and raising one brow suggestively.

You rolled your eyes at that, heaving a sigh of your own. He always did this. You tried to be nice, and he turned it into flirting. If you didn’t know better, you’d have thought it was just a distraction to get the topic off of his behavior.

But… did you know better? You really didn’t know him that well, beyond the face that he showed everyone here at the bar. That could be exactly what he was doing.

You tilted your own head, settling your bin on your hip idly as you looked back at him.

“No, I haven’t. I’ve been worried about you, is all. You seem really on edge today. Maybe you should call it a night…” you suggested softly, smiling back at him despite yourself and your surging annoyance at his inscrutable ways, but Fresh merely clicked his tongue (or so you assumed; you weren’t entirely sure what kind of equipment he was working with, as a skeleton), waving your suggestion away with a shrug and a grin.

“you don’t hafta worry about me, sugar buns. had a wiggity wack day today, threw me off kilter, but i’ll be as right as a three-wheel bike in no time. just need to cool off with my favorite, radical human, and all this noise comes with the territory of that. so no worries, bruh. i’m good… just float your fine self my way every once in a while,” he informed you casually, even his admission coming out as spontaneous and relaxed, and you stared at him in silence for a moment, your heart aching in your chest.

He liked you that much? That he would put himself in a situation that made him uncomfortable, just to see you?

Fresh annoyed the shit out of you, that wasn’t going to change anytime soon. But this… well. This changed a few things.

You suddenly felt a rush of magnanimity and friendliness, along with something else that felt a lot like fondness, flow through your blood, and you smiled at the monster genuinely, reaching out to touch his shoulder before remembering his discomfort with contact and withdrawing it.

“Why don’t I get you a drink, then. Take my time making it, too, so we can talk a bit,” you suggested, wiping the area you had just cleared clean, and Fresh’s smile cranked up a notch, gratefulness in its cant.

“that’d be pretty rad, yo. something fun, with those little umbrellas, if you can swing it… and sweet. like you,” he requested hopefully, the bone around his sunglasses crinkling into a wink, and you laughed a little more giddily than you intended to, a blush decorating your cheeks.

What was wrong with you? You felt like a schoolgirl again, tittering over a compliment from the boy you liked. You knew he was a flirt, he had hit on you at least once just tonight. His temperament tonight hadn’t changed anything…

You needed to get a grip.

You started to make your way back around the bar to put away your tray of trash and used dishes so you could make Fresh his drink, more excited than you felt like you should be to talk to him in what seemed like camaraderie, but you never made it.

On your way to the end of the bar, your bin was knocked out of your hands by a large, broad shouldered man shoving his way past you, his face set in drunken anger. He was making his stomping way over to where Fresh was sitting, and was followed closely by two of his equally beefy friends.

You smelled trouble immediately, and scrambled to pick up the dropped refuse so you could set it aside and rush to see what was going on.

By the time you reached the other side of the bar again, the men had already stepped up to encircle the tense looking skeleton monster, his back still turned to them and his hands balled into fists on the top of the bar.

They were all sneering at him, bull headed, drunk oafs swelling their chests and pulling at their belt buckles with over-masculine pride, and the biggest, most bull headed, drunkest of them was shouting slurs at the seated, peaceful monster, spit flying from his mouth and sticking in his scraggly, beer stained mustache.

“…and your kind have no business sayin’ a single word to our women, much less tryin’ to sweep ‘em off their feet or whatever hogwash you’re tryin’ to pull with them. stick with your disgusting beast females, _animal_ ,” he was uttering crassly, clearly upset with Fresh’s popularity, and though you tried to elbow your way into the half circle of men to stand up for the monster and clear out the gathering of clearly violent men, the men shouldered you back and out of the way.

Fresh, from his seat, merely shrugged good naturedly, though you could see, from the edge of his face that was visible to you, he was far from calm.

“hey man, i gotta respect that. and if it were me chasin’ tail, i’d kick the habit entirely. too much hassle. but all those broads hang off me of their own super rad volition, bruh. you may wanna swing on down their way and have a chat with them instead,” he replied sunnily, though his voice was edged with more than just anxiety (oh… oh no… he was getting angry…), but this only served to aggravate his antagonists even further, the big one bristling furiously.

“’s not what it looks like you were doing with the bartender, freak. we see you in here every weekend, flirting up a storm with her. she doesn’t want any of what you’re selling, filth. and if we ever see you in here again, we’ll…” he started to threaten, fists clenching at his sides, but Fresh cut him off with a sharp bark of laughter, uncharacteristically loud.

He hung his head while he laughed, bowed over his forearms, before sitting up straight, gaze set on the wall of bottles behind the bar from under the brim of his cap and behind the cover of his sunglasses.

“’scuse me, compadre… but i don’t think she needs you to speak for her. she’s got a pretty righteous voice of her own, and she’s not afraid to set me straight, i can tell you that for flippin’ sure. and as for your radtastic threats, _bro_ …” he informed the angry, drunken gorillas behind him, his teeth gritting together.

The lights in the bar flashed suddenly, flickering and surging, and when the light had returned to the establishment, Fresh was standing up and facing his aggressors, his smile just a little wrong.

It looked twisted, seething with purple sparks and more than a little craziness.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he lifted one hand to his sunglasses, looking like he was just going to push them back up his nasal ridge… but then took them off entirely, for the first time that you had ever seen; his bared eye sockets were empty and flickering with the same strange, disturbing magic that ran over his bared teeth, twisting shadows and violet lightning spilling from them chillingly.

He folded his sunglasses with one hand and hung them from his shining SWAG necklace, looking between each of the vastly intimidated looking men before him slowly as he did, then cracked his knuckles menacingly in the silence that had fallen in the bar.

“throwing down with me will be the last thing you ever fucking do,” he warned in a voice so dark and angry that a shiver ran over your whole body, but, foolishly, the large man that had been trying to intimidate Fresh forgot his good sense and stepped forward to meet the monster’s challenge, reaching out to fist a hand in the front of his shirt.

“Bring it on, shorty. There’s only one of you, and three of us,” he gloated, his friends chuckling stupidly as they stepped up as well, but Fresh wasn’t paying them any mind. His focus was on the hand dug into his shirt, his teeth shining in a snarl of vehemence and wrath.

“ ** _unhand me, human… unless you wish to lose that hand altogether,_** ” he growled ferally, his own hand flashing up to capture the hand that had dared to touch him; he gripped the man’s fingers so hard that cracks and pops rang out through the whole bar, making the large drunkard stumble backwards with a yowl of pain and surprise, holding his distorted, bent hand with his other.

Fresh, practically vibrating with rage and provocation, stalked after him, raising a hand draped with dark, terrifying magic, but with the circle of men broken, you took advantage of the crowd’s momentary distraction to leap forward and, fearfully (would he turn on you too? You didn’t know, but you had to try to get him out of there), grabbed Fresh by the hood of his jacket, dragging him away from his belligerents and against your body.

“ _Grillby!”_ you called out frantically, quickly locking your arms around Fresh’s chest from behind and pulling him further away, spitting and snarling as he went, and the manager (and owner, for that matter), a tall, regal flame elemental that shone in hues of orange and gold, stepped out of the back room where he had been doing inventory immediately, taking stock of the situation with both speed and consequence.

“…Gentlemen, you are no longer welcome here. …I would leave before I call the police, were I you. …My dear, if you would take Sans to the back where he can cool down, that would be much appreciated. …I will handle the bar while he does,” he judged quickly, pointing at the front door to indicate which way the drunken men should leave, and you obeyed as urgently as you could, struggling to drag the squirming, snapping monster in your arms behind the bar (he was strong as _fuck_ , gods above) and through the kitchen door to get him away from danger and trouble both.

As soon as you were in the back storage room, where Grillz kept all the extra, unopened boxes of alcohol, you released Fresh and fell back against the wall next to the back door, trying to make yourself small in case he tried to attack you too.

He made no move to strike at you, though, standing in the place that you had released him and staring, with a heaving chest and furious sockets, at where you stood, as still as a panther about to pounce.

After a long moment of you two just staring at each other in silence, him with murder and you with distinct, encompassing fear, he straightened and pulled at his mussed jacket, still scowling fiercely but with less wrath. His magic was subsiding as well, lessening the pressure in the room a great deal.

“ ** _i did not need your assistance, woman. i am more than capable of destroying my enemies,_** ” he snapped, his voice no less dark or intimidating, and took a step towards you, and though you should have been more scared by his approach, by the strange heaviness of his voice and his changed dialect (it almost sounded like an entirely different person was speaking, when he was like this), his words themselves snapped you out of your fear and into sarcastic annoyance.

Ugh. Some thanks you got for putting your neck on the line for him.

“Tch… you’re welcome, asshole. You know can’t do that kind of stuff here. Your people may have had different rules Underground, but up here, you can’t just kill people,” you retorted, folding your arms, and taking a step towards him as well, sneering, and Fresh, his bony lip curling, closed the distance between the two of you to stand chest to chest with you, staring down at you through his flickering, dangerous sockets.

“ ** _i care nothing for your ‘rules’. i could destroy all of those pathetic worms with a twitch of my hand. they are nothing to me, insignificant specks in the vastness of the universe. and yet every one of them, all of you humans, seem to think the galaxy circles around you and your interests,_** ” he muttered hostilely, his potential for violence and cruelty echoing in his hard, passionate speech, and, even though you were afraid, intimidated by his threats (you had no doubt he was fully capable of what he claimed), you swallowed back your fear and breathed out heavily through your nose, staring him down unwaveringly.

“…just calm down, okay? Those guys are idiots, they don’t know what they’re talking about. Monsters are no different than us, besides in form, and can be with whoever they want. …even human bartenders,” you assured him haltingly, for the second time that night wishing you could reach out and pat him on the shoulder (your hand twitched towards him, but you stuffed it into your pocket instead), and Fresh, huffing, tossed his chin in disregard, clearly missing your veiled, tentative admission.

“ ** _that doesn’t matter. even if they had been correct, they…_** whoa, wait, hold the phone. what was that? did you just say what i think you did?” he began dismissively, his exhaled breath carrying a growl on it, but lapsed into stunned inquiry, fumbling with his words and his slow realization (he also seemed to snap out of the worst of his rage, his dialect smoothing out into the one you knew best and, honestly, liked quite a bit more), and you, finally, glanced down uncomfortably, rubbing at the back of your neck and tapping a toe on the concrete floor.

His sneakers, a rainbow of undone shoelaces and patterned duct tape, were inches from the toes of your conservative heels… he was really close. You could almost feel his breath on your skin, hyper aware of his presence.

Was this really the best time to be doing this?

“I… I’m not sure yet, okay Fresh? I’m more concerned with getting you calmed down than thinking about what I think of you right now,” you murmured lamely, not even entirely sure why you’d said what you had in the first place (it had been a weird night, you weren’t quite sure what you were doing anymore), but Fresh wasn’t letting you back out of your admission, his magic receding in his sockets until his magical gaze returned to him, an excited smile pulling at his former glower.

“why not both, sugar lump?” he offered, tilting his head and smirking down at you, and you glanced up at him from the corners of your eyes (it was a little unnerving, seeing his whole face, especially after seeing his now softly glowing sockets seething with evil magic), arching a brow in confusion.

“What do you mean?” you asked curiously, though you had a feeling you knew what he was getting at from the sultry twist his voice had taken, and Fresh, more than happy to oblige your curiosity, reached up to tip his cap back, his other hand sliding into his multicolored jacket pocket.

“i mean, jelly bean… that i’m all kinds of jacked up from that joke of a tiff. i feel like funking up every monster hater in the world right now. and you’re lookin’ pretty hot yourself… i was suggesting that we could burn off some of the excess stressin’ the old fashioned way,” he hinted, wagging a brow up and down enticingly, and even though you had suspected that was what he had had on his mind, you were still taken aback by his blatant proposal, taking a slight, surprised step backwards to give yourself some room to breathe.

You honestly got these kinds of offers from men quite often, given your line of work, but never from someone you felt… _something_ for. Had gotten them from _him_ before, too, when you had thought you weren’t interested. You liked to keep things casual, so you could duck out at your own discretion if things started getting too weird for you… you had a feeling that that wasn’t what he had in mind.

You were only now coming to grips with what you thought about the guy, you weren’t prepared for this…

 “…uh. Uhm. Well, I mean, there are other ways… a lot of people feel better after they do drugs, and I know someone that could get you…” you proposed shakily, avoiding his gaze and gripping the tube of lipstick you had in your pocket, and Fresh, his smirk falling just the smallest bit, shrugged one shoulder, looking supremely uninterested.

“no dice, my radical dudette. tried ‘em all, from acid to zoloft. they do literally nothing for me. not even the monster varieties, yo,” he dismissed, following your shaky step away from him, and, noticing his advance, you shrank back another step, your back hitting the wall beside the door that led to the alley behind the bar.

You chanced a glance up at him, a drop of sweat beading on your forehead when you met his searching, inquisitive stare.

“Oh. Well. There’s that drink I promised you…” you reminded him, swallowing against the welling of nervousness and self-consciousness that felt like it was clawing its way up your throat (why were you so nervous? You were hardly a virgin, and it wasn’t like you were _opposed_ to this… you’d had quickies with strangers before. Again, though, he wasn’t a stranger… and you doubted this would be the last time this happened), but Fresh shook his head at that as well, taking another step forward to block off your escape.

His gaze flickered over you, solemn and slow.

“not into it anymore, babe. and hey… if you’re not feeling like getting down, i get it. i can deal. but i’m catching the drift that that’s not the dealio,” he observed quietly, leaning an arm against the wall next to your head and crossing his feet at the ankle, and you looked up at him in silence for a moment, vacillating and unsure of if you should take the leap.

If you should tell him what was going through your mind.

You made your decision when he made no move to come closer (he was standing closer to you than he ever did anyone else already; he hadn’t even snapped at you for grabbing him, come to think of it. Did that mean something?), to pressure you for more than you were willing to come forth with; he hadn’t even cracked a joke, since he had emerged from his rage. He must be serious about this.

The least you could do was give him the same consideration, no matter what end.

“…Fresh, I just don’t know. We don’t have the best history, I’m only just getting to know you better. You have women hanging all over you all the time. There are a few out at the bar right now that would jump your bones in a second. Why me?” you probed searchingly, looking over his face questioningly (you’d always wondered that, why he kept coming back, kept returning his attentions to you), and he let out a chuckle at your turn of phrase, his grin lifting his bared teeth back up into joviality.

“ha! sweet twist of the lingo, brah, you always did have a way with words. but, about them… i’m not interested in the easy peasy, if you’re hip to my jive, yo. you’re a class act, and i like your style. plus… i have a feeling you dig me back,” he divulged, sending you a wink layered with humor and meaning both as he reached up to retrieve his sunglasses from his necklace, and you let out a tiny gasp, flushing for the second time that evening.

“Fresh… I…” you stammered, your gaze whipping to and away from his expressive face nervously, and above you, Fresh’s smile turned from amusement to understanding, his voice dropping into a soft, reassuring murmur as he slid his sunglasses back onto his face, hiding his sockets behind the gaudy plastic once more.

“give it to me straight, baby doll. we’ve been dodgin’ around the subject for months. you shake me off no sweat, but every time i swing by, your soul nearly jumps outta your chest at me. i catch you staring at me. you laugh at my lame jokes, even though i know i annoy the wiggity wack out of you,” he listed off, showing far more introspection than you had ever expected from him, and leaned further over you, raising the hand he didn’t have propped on the wall beside you to the side of your face, ghosting his fingers an inch from your skin, brushing a wisp of your hair back.

“you knew that i don’t like bein’ touched, even though i never slid that info your way. i started coming in the same time, every friday, just to see if you started looking for me when i showed up. you did. you get this cute little sparkle in your eye when i flirt with you… like i can see your soul through your eyes. am i getting the wrong vibe here? or you just a hard case?” he concluded, tucking the strand of hair he had caught behind your ear (you shivered, stimulated more than you liked to admit; he’d never touched you before, and the sensation of bone against your skin, even the barest brush, was far more pleasant than you’d expected it to be).

You gaped up at him in silence for a moment, blown away by how much thought he’d put into his attentions (at least you weren’t a whim to him…), before snapping your lips shut and blushing brighter than you ever had before, feeling, for the umpteenth time that night, like you were twelve again. 

“…you really rub me the wrong way sometimes, but I do like you… I think…” you mumbled, twisting the toe of your heel against the bare concrete floor, and Fresh snickered again, his broad shoulders shaking in his muted mirth.

“then let me rub you right the way. we both need this, fo sho… and we can figure out the other stuff later,” he reassured you, his tone dropping back into casual seduction, and you bit your lip in indecision, his interest in the motion not escaping your notice (his gaze sharpened, his sockets narrowing in keen and rabid hunger).

“I don’t know… I usually don’t get into serious stuff with guys, and… you’re the least serious guy I know, asking me to do just that. It’s a weird conundrum,” you admitted sheepishly, and he shrugged one shoulder, jabbing a thumb into his chest and grinning like being a conundrum was a point of pride.

“it’s my specialty, sweetness… but i got more to me than my sick, radtastic jokes and awesome moves. we can make a thing out of it, bang the ever loving funk out of each other whenever we need while we bang out everything else as we go,” he claimed, and you swept your gaze over him one more time, worrying your lip with your teeth again before releasing it.

“…you’re not going to hurt me, are you?” you asked quietly, having to make sure, and Fresh looked almost offended at the suggestion, drawing his head back like he’d been slapped.

“hecking nah, brah. sansy fresh only brings the best in pleasure and good times. won’t deny, tonight i’m not gonna be sweet or gentle. don’t have it in me right now. and even on the best days, i’m not into the touchy feely, or cuddling, or that kinda stuff,” he disclosed with quirk of his mouth to the side, an unspoken apology for his behaviors, then went on, shuffling just a little closer to you.

Warmth blossomed in your chest, spreading into your heart and down into your abdomen, when he slid a knee between yours, his breath hot against your cheeks as he leaned closer to you.

“but i can testify, straight up, that i’m the best you’ve ever had. no take backs. no returns. satisfaction guaranteed. not just in bed, either, babe; i make baller pancakes, and i kick major tail at street fighter,” he snarked, nearly ruining the moment with a crack, but you ignored it in favor of facing your decision.

You knew that he would honor his word if you said no. He would back off, like he always did, and leave you in peace to find his own comfort from his still simmering anger.

But there was a large part of you, and growing larger by the second, that really didn’t want to say no. You were curious where this was going, what something like he was offering could lead to… and he was right. You needed this too. It had been awhile, and with how he had defended you earlier…

With him standing so close… his offer so tantalizing and his presence so encompassing…

“A-alright. I wanna try,” you agreed softly, trembling against the wall, and Fresh, his breath leaving him in a sigh of relief (you hadn’t realized he was even holding it), huffed a mirthful chortle, true happiness in his smile.

“sweetness. i was hopin’… but ya know. confidence is a tough sell when it comes to beautiful humans. never know they’ll react to… a monster, as rad as we are,” he said shamefacedly, waving a hand at himself carelessly, and you rolled your eyes, laughing yourself.

“I just kind of thought you were messing around, honestly. Like you did with the other women,” you assured him, and he grinned at that, raising his hand to touch his fingertips to your lower lip, still wet from where you had bitten at it.

“you’re nothing like them, gorgeous,” he purred at you, tracing his fingers over your skin lightly, the barest of caresses; you wanted to touch him too, wanted to join in his tactile pastime, but hesitated again, jerking towards him but holding yourself back.

He looked gratefully at your restrained movement, dropping his own hand away from your face.

“sorry about that. i’ma work on my hangups with touching and that shiznit as we go, cross my nonexistent heart. right now, though… you can touch me, but warn me first, yeah? it was all i could do not to rip you apart when you grabbed me earlier. you’re lucky you smell so good,” he excused, bending to breathe in deeply against your neck (your heart nearly skipped a beat at the gesture, your face flooding with color), and you nodded eagerly before, with a shooing movement to indicate that he needed to move back, you turned to face the wall, bracing your hands on the cement and waggling your ass at him provocatively.

“I’ll take you up on that later. Right now, though… weren’t we working on calming you down?” you encouraged, feeling awfully seductive even in your conservative slacks and button up shirt, and your new position seemed to snap Fresh back into his lustful need, something that sounded like a growl coming from him as he stalked up behind you, his hands a ghostlike pressure along your sides and hips as he traced your form with careful attention, and you shivered, anticipatory, when he leaned over your body, his breath rustling your hair.

“we were. so why don’t you drop those splendiferous pants around your ankles… lemme see the goods... and i’ll get us going on the main event of the evening,” he murmured excitedly, his light touches pulling at the tucked in length of your shirt, and you undid the button and zipper on your slacks as quickly as you could manage, your fingers fumbling in the heat of the moment.

He helped shove the bunched material down to your feet, baring the length of your legs to the slightly cool back room and his gaze as well, and pulled your shirt halfway up your torso as well, revealing your plain, undecorated panties.

You flushed in embarrassment at their state, having not planned for anyone to see them tonight (you _knew_ you should have worn the lace ones, they were so pretty), but he didn’t seem to care, humming under his breath as he traced the lining of your underwear with a delicate, light finger.

He pulled those down too, and sucked in a breath at the sight of you before him once he had stood back to his full height, his expression hidden behind his sunglasses but his grin wide and hungry enough to tell you his intent.

“bangin’…” he whispered as he gazed luridly at your ass, his chest rising and falling quickly (his glasses flashed in the overhead light, seeming to read "Hott" for a moment), and dropped his hands to the front of his shorts hurriedly, his magic reactivating from behind his sunglasses.

It felt far less malevolent now, though, tinged with warmth and arousal rather than ire and murder, and manifested itself in a drooping, sinuous tongue that hung between his parted teeth and in a thick, already at attention cock that jutted above the lowered, elastic waistline of Fresh’s shorts, both a deep purple laced through with swirling black.

He traced the tip of his tongue over his teeth, licking the edge of a surprisingly sharp looking canine, before stepping up behind you, stroking a hand along the length of his magical dick; he let out a rumbling growl, voracious and licentious, before sliding it between your spread thighs, rubbing the thickness along your folds in short, shallow thrusts.

You both gasped together at the sensation, one of his hands settling on your hip and the other propping itself on the wall beside your own hand; you whimpered at the surprising warmth of him, grinding back into his thrusts, and he chuckled darkly at your needy motions, gripping your hip tightly to pull you further back into him.

“somebody’s excited…” he crooned, turning his face into your hair to bite at your ear, and then pulled his hips back to line himself up with your entrance, the tip of his cock spreading your folds around his thickness intimidatingly.

“i warned you already, but i’ll remind you… i’m not gonna be going easy. don’t have the patience right now. i’ll treat you better next time,” he promised, sensing the tightness in your body, and though you sucked in a breath at his seriousness, biting your lip and feeling, against your skin, the sheer size of him (you hadn’t gotten a good look at him, over your shoulder, but he certainly _felt_ big enough to make this hurt… you were going to be _sore_ the rest of the night, that was for sure) making you think twice about agreeing to this… but also making you wetter at the same moment.

At least you’d thought to lock the storage room door behind the two of you.

“Fuck me raw, Fresh,” you demanded in a low, tremulous moan, not giving yourself time to change your mind, and he laughed harshly against your ear, his tongue flicking against the lobe.

“heh… like i could say no to that,” he snarled, assertive and hungry for you, and thrust his hips forward, seating himself in you all at once, his girth such that tears sprung to your eyes at his full insertion.

Your interest had gotten you wet enough to allow him easy passage, despite your tightness, and he only waited a moment, during which he adjusted his position behind you, before pulling all the way out of your core and thrusting right back in, jerking an impassioned, pained exhalation from you.

You had been right, it did hurt, and his quick, hard pacing wasn’t helping you adjust; each of his thrusts were full bore, taking you to the base of his cock with each slam of his hips against your backside.

Thankfully, though, his magic seemed to be easing his roughness enough for you to start to feel more than the sharpness of his pelvis through his shorts and the dire need in your skeletal lover’s motions, and when he pushed a heavy, domineering hand down on the center of your back, forcing you to bend lower for him, you let out your first stimulated, pleasured moan, sinking your hand down between your thighs to rub at your clit as he fucked you mindless.

Before long, you had to bite your lip to drown your pants and moans of gratification and longing, your knees trembling and a trail of unheeded drool dripping from your chin; Fresh was in much the same state, his teeth dug into the material of his t-shirt to hold it over his pounding, rough thrusts against your backside, grunts and groans and outright snarls of animalistic pleasure playing in fits and starts through his hollow chest.

You dragged nearly two orgasms from yourself, shuddering and whimpering through your release when you reached it, before he buried himself to the hilt in your pussy, dug both hands into your waist, and bent double over your back to pour his magical seed into you, his cock pulsing in his orgasm and his breath hard and humid against the back of your neck.

He kept himself in you for a long moment while he recovered, a few shivers of his own breaking over his bony body, before he placed a soft, quick kiss to your shoulder blade, withdrew himself from your sore, ravaged core, and smacked your already bruising ass with a chuckle.

“top funking tier, sweetness. you got a heck of a rocking bod, and it is gonna be such a pleasure to take it to pound town on the reg,” he panted, wearily pulling his shorts back up over his pelvis (his cock had disappeared with a short burst of magic), but you weren’t quite capable of answering him yet, furiously rubbing your clit to work yourself over the edge of the orgasm you were teetering on.

He fell silent as he inspected you, still and breathless, but let out a rumbling, deep growl when you came with a soft, muffled scream against the back of your hand, your legs shaking and your pussy clenching in magnificent, pleasurable release.

A long, hot, glistening string of his cum, a glowing violet that you suddenly wondered at the taste of (you could find that out for yourself all too soon), dripped from your core to the floor between your feet, and Fresh, his grin glinting with carnality, bent to press a thumb to your folds, spreading you for his viewing pleasure.

He watched more of his magic drool from you, smirk ratcheting up another degree, before helping you dress again, smug and vindicated at the state he had left you in.

“gonna take a wild guess and say you had a pretty awesome time too, eh?” he hazarded, leaning next to you on the wall as you caught your breath and tried to steady your shaking legs, and you snorted, glancing at him wearily.

“You could say that, dork. Ugh… why did I do this at work? I still have another three hours on my shift; my legs are going to collapse,” you groaned, and Fresh snickered, snapping his fingers at the glistening pool of magic on the floor to make it disappear in a puff of lavender smoke (though, between your legs, you could still feel the cum he had left in you… selective cleaning?).

“tell ya what, broseph. i’ll stick around and keep you company, entertain you with my many radical party tricks… and when you’re off the clock, i’ll follow you home, make sure you get there all safe and junk,” he offered magnanimously, far perkier than he had been when you dragged him back here (he hadn’t been joking, it looked like sex was exactly the pick me up he had needed), then shoved himself away from the wall to walk backwards across the room from you, back towards the inside of the building, his smile tinged with teasing and ceaseless lust.

“wouldn’t say no to round two once we get there, either.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to leave a comment! All chapters have been devised already, closing down the sin collection box!


	27. Pet Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 31
> 
> Sans likes the view from the top.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Tumblr, for sneak peeks, skele sins, extra content, and other shenanigans.  
> http://thebananafrappe.tumblr.com/
> 
> My fanart blog, where you can find fabulous fanart made for my fics!  
> http://fanartcenteral.tumblr.com/

*Undertale*

* * *

When you had first introduced yourself to the BDSM scene, you had taken it upon yourself to find out as much about the practices as you could. You had educated yourself in various styles of bondage, learned about knots and how to escape them, figured out exactly how much pain you could withstand. Discovered how much humiliation was too much for your temperament, how far you were willing to bend to please a partner… and exactly how many lovers you could stand at once.

After the fiasco in Colorado, you were keeping it at a strict two, if not just a single lover at a time.

Going in, you had known you were a sub. You knew you wanted to be controlled, to have any and all power taken from you. You wanted to be held down, smacked around a bit maybe… have your body driven to its utter limits _absolutely_. You wanted to be a puddle of human by the end, panting for breath and completely sated and covered in scratches and bruises and cum.

You had had a few serious doms in your time, had had quite a good time with them too… but that had been before you met your current dom. That had been before you had learned something integral that you had missed in your studies of your favorite form of sexual deviance… that there were two kinds of masters in the bedroom.

Most dominants had submissives, that had to be guided and led and occasionally punished… partners that they had to physically exert control over.

But some?

Some had _pets_ , so well trained and obedient to their whim and desire that all it took was a single word to have their partner know what to do.

Sans the skeleton was one of the latter.

A nondescript monster of no great size or vigor (he was, in fact, quite lazy in his day to day, often seen sleeping in odd places at his leisure), Sans was the last person that anyone would expect to be the beast that he was in the bedroom.

In fact, after seeing him in person following your conversations on the online service that had matched you two up, you’d been convinced that he was pulling an elaborate, over the top prank.

Surely, this indolent, jokey skeleton, with his slovenly ways and his lethargic grins and his love for drinking condiments, wasn’t the same male that had promised you such incredible fantasies over the online messenger you’d chatted with him on.

Surely, this short, drab monster, dressed casually in sweatpants and a baggy hoodie, wasn’t the person that had made you cum just by growling through the phone into your ear, dark assurances and hard commands on his deep, rumbling voice.

Surely, this was some sort of tasteless joke.

Surely.

It surely had _not_ been, though; before you had even sat across the table from Sans in the dark, moody restaurant, he had exerted his dominance, not even looking at you as he commanded that you ask permission to sit.

Once you had, titillated by the ease with which he had asserted himself, he had still ignored you, speaking to you over the top of the menu he held, magical gaze on the list of meals.

He had ordered you, since you wanted to sit down so badly, not to move from your chair for the rest of the evening, no matter what he did to you, until he said that you could.

You had agreed, humiliation and excitement and curiosity thrumming in your blood, and he had, at last, looked to you, the smirk he wore so predatory and ravening that you had shivered in your seat.

The torture he had inflicted on you that night, his magic slithering over your skin under the tablecloth to tease, stroke, and pleasure you without restraint or relief, had certainly cemented his place in your dynamic; he had made you cum three times during the meal alone, just to show that he could, his narrowed sockets on your twitching body and forcefully held shut lips and his smug grin glinting with carnality.

With his command to not make a single noise while he fucked you mindless without moving an inch from his own chair, you had had no audience but him and your poor, nervous waitress, who had been more than aware of why your eyes had rolled back in your head when she had asked about dessert.

Sans had told you the deal as he had reduced you to a helpless pile of mush, his magic thrusting into your core beneath the table and his chin leaned on one lazy hand; he looked so pleased with himself, so lustful and desirous and satisfied with his dominance that you were getting, if possible, even hornier, just from his expression.

He told you that he was extremely interested in setting up a sexual relationship with you, that he honestly couldn’t wait to show you all the tricks in his book, that he was dying to see just how subservient you could be…

And that from that moment forward, if you liked what you were feeling, if you thought that you could handle him, if you wanted what he could give you, you would be _his_.

The object of his lusts, your body his, and only his, to use and demean and own. Slave to his pleasure, at any moment and in any place that he chose. You would obey his word without question, without hesitance, or there would be consequences.

In exchange, you had his guarantee of safety. He would never harm you more than you could handle. How much that was would be yours to declare, at any time. He would never place you in danger. You would have a system of safe words, to keep things pleasurable for the both of you, and if, at any time, you wanted to be done with him, it was your game to call off. He would respect your wishes, and halt all advances.

You also had his guarantee of pleasure. That no matter what he did to you… that no matter where his deviances and desires took the both of you, you would enjoy it immensely. That it was his mission to not just obtain satisfaction for himself… but for you as well.

You hadn’t had to consider that deal long, as he had stroked you into yet another orgasm; you had agreed the moment that you had regained your breath.

He had sent you on your way unsated that night, knowing full well that you had wanted to sink your dripping, desperate core onto his cock; he had tsked a glowing blue tongue against the back of his bared teeth in mocking, shaking his head and shooing you away.

“ _oh no, precious. i’ll decide when you get relief, not you. and you’d better not touch yourself either… we wouldn’t wanna start our games with punishment instead of pleasure_.”

It had turned out that the time he decided to give you your “relief” had been at three in the afternoon the next day, using his incredibly potent magic to stop time in the middle of the office you worked in; he had fucked you over the meeting table you had been trying to make a presentation on, pulling your head up by the hair and telling you to look the frozen, staring humans still seated at the table in the eye.

To imagine what they would think if they could see you like this, moaning like a whore while a monster shoved his cock into your eager pussy… to think about how they would be getting off on the sight of your exposed breasts, on the lurid sounds you were making as you felt your _master_ filling your desperate cunt with his cum.

He’d fucked you so hard and so long that you’d had to sit down the rest of the presentation, your legs too weak to bear your weight… plus, if you’d dared to stand in front of the investors, your state would have been revealed (Sans had not only came inside you twice, but had taken your panties with him when he had teleported away as well), and you’d rather not try to explain to the elderly Japanese men why you had blue ectoplasm trickling down the insides of your legs.

It had certainly been an interesting beginning to your new setup… and had only escalated from there.

Sans hadn’t given you time to adjust to his strict rules and demanding sexual appetites, after screwing you silly in public; he had applied his harsh demands the very next day, expecting complete, full compliance with his inflexible orders the moment he gave them.

It had taken several weeks of reprimands to learn and react and play along well enough to satisfy him, your ass streaked with bruised wheals and hand marks and your jaw sore from forced blow jobs and your body desperately needy from withheld orgasms, but even when he was punishing you, his snarls of recompense in your ear as he wrapped his phalanges around your throat and pulled you hilt deep onto his thick cock, you had never enjoyed yourself more.

He more than met his promises of pleasuring you as he “trained” you (that was what he liked to call it, smirking down at you as you swallowed down as much of his dick as you could), fulfilling your darkest desires and naughtiest daydreams; you had only needed to use your safe word once with him, and it hadn’t even been his fault, merely an allergic reaction to one of the lubes he had gotten.

Then, one day months into your deviances, Sans had gotten you a present, a small white box wrapped in ribbon. Inside it, lying on a red velvet cushion, had been a collar, made of soft leather and flat metal studs.

It had a tag on it, reading _Sans’ Bitch_ , and a ring for a leash to be attached.

He had watched you pull it from the box with hungry anticipation, scrutinizing your expression wantonly. You had been unsure of what exactly it had meant, looking up at him from your place next to him on your couch (you had decided to rent an apartment with him months before, making your mutual lusting far easier), but had moved to obey the moment he had growled at you to put it on, snapping the collar around your neck with shaking but eager hands.

He had inspected it with his gaze and his fingers both, admiring how the tag hung just above your bared cleavage and how the color looked against your skin, before he had reached into his pocket and withdrew a leash that matched the color of the collar, twirling it around his bony fingers and meeting your eyes meaningfully.

“ _you’ve done so well so far, been so obedient and quick to learn, i figured we could move on to the next phase… pet.”_

That had been weeks ago, and even though you had thought it impossible, even though you had thought that the two of you had reached the pinnacle of your deviancies, his gifting you the collar took things one step further.

Sans truly became your master, his commands short and sharp and lowering you to the level of a dog.

It was humiliating, to be ordered to sit on the floor before him rather than at his side while you played… to be made to wear the collar everywhere you went (he had edged you for five hours straight when he had found out you had taken it off to go grocery shopping, snarling in your ear that naughty little bitches needed to _learn their **place**_ ) … to be dragged up and down his cock by the leash he loved to tug you around by.

It was degrading, dirty, the lowest you had ever felt… and you _loved_ it.

Nothing got you wetter, these days, than when he dug his fingers under the leather of the collar and dragged you against him… nothing made you rush to shuck your clothes from your body faster than when he pulled the leash out of his pants’ pocket…

And Sans knew it.

He knew how filthy you were, how much you adored his intense domination… which was how you had ended up where you were today, whimpering and nearly weeping with overstimulation and needy desperation, kneeling at Sans’ feet and pawing hopefully at his pants.

He had just gotten home from work (as had you, to your incredible relief), and you had gotten on the floor immediately when he had walked into the living room, naked, like he had instructed, and waiting impatiently as he had put his things away, ignoring you completely as you whined and squirmed and begged for his attention.

The vibrators he had taped to your clit and inserted into your pussy that morning, with the explicit order not to touch them, were driving you mad, had had you dripping your juices down your legs and orgasming over and over all day, and you _needed_ him, almost more than you ever had before.

But you dared not say a word, knowing that he was still playing with you, and before long, he had gone to his armchair and sat, turning on the television before finally, _finally_ turning his gaze to you.

He had smirked, looking over your fraught writhing with knowing levity, and patted his femur wordlessly, beckoning you closer. You had gone to him immediately, crawling to his feet and setting your head on his knee to nuzzle against the bone beneath the material of his jeans, and he had petted your hair softly before speaking, reaching under your chin to clip your leash to your collar.

“ _i think i know what you want, girl… you want your bone. you’ve been hungry all day, haven’t you? well, come get it.”_

Which had left you here, knelt between his spread legs on your knees, pulling lustfully at the zipper on his pants to release the erection you could feel beneath the taut material. You were trembling weakly, the vibrators still buzzing against your folds, but you managed to wrestle the clasp of his jeans apart to pull Sans’ glowing, thick, blue cock from their confines and into your eager hands, your fingers worshiping him and your mouth filling with saliva at the sight of him.

You couldn’t get your mouth on him quickly enough, licking the dribbles of pre-cum from his tip before plunging down on his length as far as you could go; you felt the fingers of one of Sans’ hands dig into your hair as you sucked sloppily at his dick, eager noises thrumming in your throat, and heard a rumble of pleasure echo in his empty chest.

You knew without looking what his expression looked like, that he was watching you go down on him with a grin so wide and sharp that it nearly cracked his skull; his sockets would be glowing with his awakened magic and his never ending lust, with the fullness of his satisfaction in your submission to him.

“good girl…” he purred to you after a long moment of just watching you pleasure him in relative silence (his grunts and groans were quiet compared to yours), looking on as you raised one hand to stroke the thick base of him, licking hungrily at the head before sucking him back between your lips, then pulled on your leash insistently, pulling you off his cock to look up at him.

He smirked at you as you panted up at him from the floor, still fidgeting from the feeling of the vibrators working you slowly towards yet another orgasm (the one building in your abdomen would be the eleventh that day… it was exhausting…), and slid his hand from your hair to wipe a trail of blue magic from your lower lip, pushing his wetted phalange into your mouth so you could lick it clean afterwards.

“you’ve been so patient, pet. let’s see just how patient, though… see if you get a reward,” he hummed, watching you suck on his finger with a carnal grin, then pulled his hand from your mouth to snap his fingers, pointing to the ground.

“down,” he commanded, expression hardening, and you moved to obey immediately, turning on the floor to sink to your elbows and knees, presenting yourself to him. Your cheeks burned with humiliation at the action, knowing how compromising and demeaning your position was, but you stayed put, almost able to physically feel his gaze on your dripping folds, on the streaks of dried and wet arousal that ran down your thighs and the small purple vibrator that was stuck to your clit, the wire of the other draping from your core.

You heard him chuckle beneath his breath as he leaned down behind you, twitching and whining needily when he ran the tips of two fingers down the seam of your thighs luridly.

“you are _soaking_ , girl… you liked this, didn’t you? being turned on all day, having to talk to those old fucks while you thought of me and creamed your pretty little panties. heh… well. relatively speaking, since you weren’t allowed to cum,” he crooned, his voice dipping into threatening darkness.

He reached out to grip the wires of the vibrators, pulling them taut and making you twitch from the sudden rush of stimulation, the tape pulling against your skin and the bullet inserted in your core shifting enough to shake a moan from your lips.

You felt panic overcome you at his words, though, your body freezing in your prostration; you hadn’t known you weren’t allowed, oh gods…

You chanced a glance at him over your shoulder, and his expression chilled you to the bone, livid fury and dissatisfied wrath in his narrowed gaze when he registered your culpability; he pulled the leash in his hand tight, his teeth gritting together as a growl rumbled in his chest.

“you didn’t cum, did you? because i never said that you could, _pet_ ,” he snarled, punishing ire in his commanding tone, and, bowing your head and trembling in place, you slowly nodded, the penitence and curious fear thrilling in your heart turning you on to incredible levels.

He growled ferally in response to your admittance, scooting to the edge of his chair and releasing the wires in his hand so he could press the tips of two fingers to the vibrator taped to your clit, pushing it against you harder and forcing a jolt of intense pleasure into your already clenching abdomen.

“yeah? and how many times did you cum? how many times do i get to punish you tonight?” he muttered dangerously, his tone low but tinted with severe rage, and it was all you could do to keep from arching your back into the pressure of his fingers on you, terrified and turned on even more because of it.

“T-ten, master… I’m sorry, I didn’t know… I’m s-sorry, _please_ …” you begged, your whole body shuddering as his cruel, knowing hand began to _rub_ the vibrator against your clit, sending waves of passion and pleasure through you, and he snarled menacingly, sinking to his knees behind you so he could lean over your back, winding the leash around his fist as he did.

“not sorry enough, pet… but you will be,” he rasped over you, punitive and harsh, and, to your everlasting humiliation, at his threat you came undone, the combined pleasure of his hand against your folds and his proposed punishment pushing you over the edge.

He stilled over you while you cried out softly in your orgasm, your legs nearly collapsing and your eyes shuttering and hands clenching against the carpet you knelt on.

The moment you had come down from your high, though, he moved; quick as a snake, his hand rose from between your legs to strike across your ass, surprising a yelp from you, unprepared for the stimulation after yet another orgasm.

If you had thought he was angry before, you were sadly mistaken; now, he was livid, and struck your posterior again, three times in quick succession, his teeth bared in a sneer of fury and unremitting ire.

“you have the _gall_ to cum again, right in front of me, while i’m punishing you? i’ve been too soft with you, whore. you’ll learn your place tonight… that’s for damn certain,” he barked, spanking you again, and you cried out in pain, tears building in your eyes and your hands clawing for purchase against the ground.

You were in for it now, and you knew it, keeping as silent as you could manage while he snarled and spat behind you in rage, tearing the vibrators from you with a careless hand (you flinched when the tape ripped from your skin) and throwing them to the floor beside you before shoving himself to his feet and pulling up on the leash he held sharply.

“up, bitch,” he snapped, seething with fury, and you scrambled to your feet as quickly as you could, nearly stumbling from the weakness of your knees after your orgasm.

He had no pity for your state, though, and reached out to grab a fistful of your hair with his free hand, dragging your face down to his level so you could meet his baleful, hard gaze.

“you’re gonna go to our bed, and you’re gonna get on top, on your hands and knees. you’re gonna stay like that, too, until i say otherwise. whether i’m in the room or not, no matter how long i keep ya waiting, you will _stay_. understand?” he demanded, shaking you by his hold on your hair, and you nodded haltingly, the tears in your eyes glittering in the muted light of the lamps in the room.

“Y-yes, master,” you whimpered, and he smirked at you cruelly, releasing his hold on your hair and leash both so you could turn to do as he had bidden, walking into your shared room to mount the bed and kneel with your elbows between your pillows, gripping the headboard and waiting, in anticipation, for Sans to follow.

It took him a few moments, during which you could hear the skeleton monster rifling through drawers and slamming doors, but when he came into the room, shutting the door behind him quietly, he came in a big way, appearing behind you on the bed so suddenly that you knew he had teleported the short way from the door to the bed.

He picked up the leash that was still attached to your collar, where it lay beside you, and sneered down at you mercilessly.

“so now you know how to obey, do you? too little too late, precious,” he snarled, swiping his free hand across your ass again, before shifting his weight behind you.

He leaned over your body, to tie the leash he had snatched up from the bedclothes to one of the bars of the headboard, then laid his hands on your body; one hand propped itself on your bruising backside and the other gripped the back of your neck to push your face against the mattress, the thick length of his once again covered cock pressing heavily between your legs in his position.

“you’ve had it too easy for too long. got lazy on you… let you think you could do whatever you wanted,” he growled against your ear when he had settled, anger and terrible retribution in his hard, deep voice; he let out a short, irritated huff against your hair, pressing your face against the bed once more, before rising to hover behind you, gripping your ass so hard that you whimpered.

“that’s about to change,” he promised you, punitive and wrathful, before he released you and you felt something cool and rough brush your thigh, what felt like a belt winding around the width of your leg.

You chanced a glance behind you, between your legs from where your head was pressed to the mattress, and saw Sans threading a leather strap through the buckle of the cuff he had just secured, seated halfway up your thigh. The cuff was connected to a length of steel pole, about half an inch thick, that had another padded leather cuff at the other end.

It was a spreader; a toy he had never used on you before. He was ensuring that your legs would stay open for him forcefully.

You flushed at the disgrace of the item, your breath faltering and your heart hammering in your chest; he was really going all out tonight, and you loved it, your tired, already aching body reacting to his despite your subservience and your completely sated lust.

Sans, his hands moving to work on the second cuff, spoke as he restrained you, tone unforgiving and unflinching from his intent.

“you’re gonna make your disobedience up to me. for every orgasm you had today without my permission, you’re gonna have another one. you’re gonna cum ‘til it hurts, pet, and then some,” he demanded, tightening the strap enough to restrain you but not enough to damage your skin (you smiled, within, at his thoughtfulness, reminding yourself to thank him later), then pulled a similar pair of padded handcuffs from just out of sight, reaching over you to secure your wrists around the same bar your leash was tied to.

“and while we do that, i’m gonna use every hole you have to my soul’s content. i’m gonna fuck you so full of cum that you’ll be dripping magic for a week. i know you like that, little cum slut that you are… but i’ll just have to deal with that side effect,” he finished, locking the last cuff in place with a flourish and a hungry grin, then turned his head to meet your gaze, his sockets narrowing with warning and agitated reprimand.

“cuz you’re gonna take my magic ‘til it’s leakin’ out of your pores. who knows? maybe it’ll even be enough to breed you,” he hissed, his grin lifting just a little more, and even though he had mentioned it before, even though you knew how hard it was for humans and monsters to have children together, you still let out a shocked, titillated gasp, flushing bright red and surprising yourself by feeling your body shudder in even further heightened desire.

Well. That was something you hadn’t known about yourself.

Sans seemed just as surprised as you were, his dominating smirk falling from his face in shock for a moment; he looked over your own stunned expression in silence, gaze flickering over your blush and your hazy eyes, before grinning so wickedly that you were sure you were looking the devil himself in the face.

“ooo… that sounded pretty positive. you like that, do ya? want me to fuck a little hybrid monster whelp outta you?” he murmured suggestively, one of his hands moving to a bare breast while the other traced down your stomach to settle at your abdomen meaningfully, and, if possible, you turned even redder, moaning needily and already imagining him filling you with enough magic to knock you up.

Why… why in hell’s name was that so hot…?

“Yes… yes, I do… _please_ …” you pled, squirming against the touch of his hard, bony hands and needing him so, so badly, and Sans, self-satisfied and gratified, let out a hearty chuckle, sitting up behind you to oversee his handiwork, your bound, presented body ready and aching before him.

He hummed below his breath at the sight of you, his neon blue tongue snaking from between his teeth to lick along them slowly, avidly.

“heh… what a perfect little whore. willing to do anything to please her master… guess i have you better trained than i thought i did. which only makes your behavior today **_worse_** ,” he reminded you caustically, tone again roughening into rebuke, and quickly undid his jeans with jerky, impatient motions, pushing them down to his knees so he could thrust himself, without warning or preparation, hilt deep into your exposed pussy, his pubic arch pressing to your enflamed, overstimulated clit roughly.

He only smirked at the cry of pained pleasure that you let out when he had seated himself in you, sinking his clawed phalanges into your waist to keep you pressed against him.

“you like to cum so much, pet? we’ll see about that by the end of the night,” he muttered bitingly, and then he was moving, thrusting himself in and out of your pinioned, abused body as hard and as fast as he could.

You were seeing stars almost immediately, his roughness and punishing pace igniting the familiar fire of humbling hedonism in your exhausted body, but Sans wasn’t interested in hearing the moans and keens of pleasure that were spilling from your lips and stuffed a wad of fabric into your mouth as soon as you started to make them, effectively silencing you.

You knew what it was the moment that you tasted yourself on the material, and flushed in further shame; it was the panties that you had been wearing that day, flush and sticky with your arousal.

He filled the crushing silence of the room with his groans and grunts of gratification instead, with the creaking of the bed and the slap of wet skin to slick, rough bone; he took no pity on you or your exhausted state, either, keeping you propped up on your knees despite the fact that he lasted nearly fifteen minutes on the first round, smacking your reddened ass each time you started to sag.

After he had finished, spilling hot, thick magic into you with long, slow pumps of his cock along your sensitive walls, he kept going, reaching a hand between your legs to push you over the edge as well as he continued his thrusts, his cum squeezing out of you around his thick cock and dripping to the sheets between your spread legs.

Even through your improvised gag, you couldn’t help but practically scream as he circled your sore, swollen clit, shaking and trembling under his ministrations, until you shuddered to a standstill in the height of your forced orgasm, tears of relief and overstimulation dripping down your cheeks.

You breathed haggardly in the wake of your explosive release, your whole body quivering, before Sans, snickering heatedly at your state, bucked against you again, the edge of his unforgiving grin glinting in your fuzzy peripheral vision with dire meaning and consequence.

“that’s one, pet… ten more to go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Feel free to leave a comment below!


	28. Fast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 1
> 
> Error is unused to kindness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhhhhhh wow banana, back at it again in August of the next year? Late much. So sorry guys, but hey! At least I'm doing it, right? XD Anywho. On we go! That's enough of my blather.
> 
> My Tumblr, for sneak peeks, skele sins, extra content, and other shenanigans!  
> http://thebananafrappe.tumblr.com/
> 
> My fanart blog, showing off all the amazing fan art that gets made for my fics!  
> http://fanartcenteral.tumblr.com/

*Error! Sans*

* * *

It was of no surprise to you when a skeleton monster appeared, without warning or notice, in the middle of your bedroom, around three in the morning.

You knew he was near now, long before he ever set foot in your world, before he stepped through those terrifying rips in the middle of the air or found you in the dark with those eerie, multicolored sockets.

You'd learned to see the signs over the years, since the first time he'd stumbled into your dark bedroom, knocking over books and two lamps and your reading chair in his dizzy blindness.

He'd told you many times that he'd nearly lashed out and killed you when you tried to help him. He'd told you how easy it would be even now, with your... acquaintance. Again, no surprise. It had been, at the start... but you two were long past that.

You knew what Error was capable of. You'd seen the place he lived. You'd seen the dolls, the carapaces of his helpless victims. Knew his mania for destruction in the name of “saving” the universe. Had felt the power to end you in his hands when he touched you.

Were more than aware of what he would have done to your world if you hadn't been the one to find him in his time of need.

That fateful night, he had been engaged in a universe bending, time altering battle with his arch-nemesis. He had been grievously wounded, blinded and nearly stricken down to his bitter end, before he fled to your world, unable to see and desperate to live.

Error was an odd being, even for a monster. He both existed and did not, according to his own accounts, composed of a creature that he refused to be acknowledged as and sent on a self appointed mission of vengeance that defied logic.

He said that his purpose was above his own life, and yet had abandoned it to spare himself.

He had tried to justify it, as his sight had slowly returned and as he had grown angrier and angrier at not just himself, but his enemy and the world around him and every being that existed and was judging him despite their ignorance of his being.

He claimed that no one would finish his work if he perished. That was why he had turned tail and quailed under your bedcover for nearly three weeks, ruining seven pillows with his odd, seemingly corrosive tears. That was why he had reduced himself to depending on a human.

You let him have his excuses. You knew he was aware of his own failings, of the fight he would have to have with himself one day. It wasn't for you to say...

And his arguments certainly didn't stop him from coming back.

This was perhaps the oddest of his counterproductive efforts to “right the universe and destroy all anomalies”. He had let you live, once he had fully recovered, hadn't destroyed your universe... and came back frequently, welcoming himself into your life and your home and your personal space.

He had been curious about you, at first, as a member of a species he claimed to despise that had helped him without expectation of repayment. You tried not to take it personally, as by his own accounts he hated all beings equally, and had hung around your home at odd times, completely at his own whim and will.

He watched you almost obsessively in those times, perplexity and something close to resentment in his gaze. He rarely spoke, even with prompting, and never about himself. He wanted to know what you did. Who you were. Why sometimes you brushed your hair and other times you didn't bother.

It was like he was looking for something, some secret slip, a reason to act on the destruction he had given so many others.

He never seemed to find it. He had always left frustrated, his words and curses a staticky mess and his temper even more so, and eventually, he seemed to stop looking. Eventually, his visits turned from silent, almost threatening observation and into the oddest friendship you'd ever had.

Error never addressed the fact that he was basically trespassing when he appeared out of nowhere, flopped down on your couch, and put his feet on your coffee table. He would welcome himself to your meals, invite himself into your quiet reading times... he had even materialized in the middle of one of your baths, once.

He had insisted your body did nothing for him at the time. You would have believed him, too, if it hadn't been for the blocky blotches of canary yellow that decorated the midnight blackness of his cheekbones or how heavy his gaze seemed to weigh on your body afterwards.

No, he never explained his more and more frequent appearances, his invasive, often rude and forceful conversation style, his habit of exploding into rages at you one moment and calming into quiet moroseness the next. He left you money in the form of gold coins on occasion, which was nice, and washed the dishes when he ate, which was even nicer, as you hated doing dishes...

But it wasn't until nearly a year and a half into your strange acquaintance that you began to put your own name to your relationship with the murderous, at least half insane monster.

You knew, from the time you had cared for him in his blindness and disability, that Error had a severe, encompassing fear of being touched. He couldn't stand it, and had nearly ripped your arm off when you had tried to help the weeping, glitching skeleton off the floor of your bedroom. You had always respected that, too, warning him when you would need to approach him and always being careful with yourself.

He had clearly appreciated your tact, too, though he never said as much (he wasn't a monster of many words, and often any words he used were crass and harsh), but over the time that you had known him... something had begun to shift in his behavior, the way he held himself around you.

You hadn't noticed, at first. He was subtle about it, his easing into his comfort. He sat one inch closer on the couch. He allowed himself to fall asleep in your presence. He showed you how to knit, and corrected your hold on his needles with only minor flinching.

It was only when he was sitting right beside you on the couch, reading over your shoulder and commenting on the dubious intelligence of the hero in your novel, that you noticed how close he was. You said nothing, only flushing and gripping the book you held more tightly.

But you started watching after, and what you saw astounded you.

He had played with your hair while you read, sometimes insisting that you read aloud for him. He was very good at braiding, and though strands of your hair got stuck in his phalanges on occasion, he really seemed to enjoy it. The multicolored bone of his fingers would graze your neck or the tips of your ears, sometimes, and to your surprise, you didn't mind.

He had stolen your food off your plate constantly. You always offered to make him his own plate, but he always declined, opting instead to straddle your other dining room chair and snipe your dinner rolls. There was a time he had refused to accept any food that you had touched at all, so this was an incredibly radical change in your opinion. More annoying than anything...

Except when he started making dinner for you before you got home, cooked exactly how you liked it. You wondered if he had been learning by eating your food. You weren't sure.

He had started to bring you treasures, like a magpie decorating its nest. Beautiful, otherworldly things, like magical glass figurines that danced, and a plant made of ghostly mist that made your house smell like a rainforest, and shining gems the size of chicken eggs in colors you'd never seen before.

He had volunteered information about himself, long after you had stopped trying to get answers from him. He showed you his plane, the Anti-Void, as he called it. Let you snicker at his glasses and the fact that he was near-sighted. Told you about the worlds he had seen. Laughed at your attempts at jokes.

He even lay next to you on your bed, when you had grown too tired to entertain him any longer and needed rest. He lay on top of the blankets, on the other side of the queen sized mattress, but he faced your side, and as you drifted into sleep, you could swear you felt his own even breath on your skin, his hand taking yours.

It had felt almost... domestic. Like you had been lovers for years, and had made a home with him.

You hadn't been uncomfortable with the idea. You had long considered the mutual benefit of what you could have together, were he inclined. You hadn't been with anyone in quite some time, besides one unsuccessful date with the bold young man at the coffee shop (Error hadn't reacted well to his smell on you when you had come home, now that you thought about it...), and when you considered the thought of finding out more about the temperamental, odd monster's anatomy...

Well. You'd had your share of hot, sticky daydreams.

He hadn't ever shown interest, though, despite his state after stumbling onto you in the bath. You weren't sure he could even be attracted to someone, if he wanted to be... if he was the sort of monster that needed to have sex, or even could. Perhaps he wasn't into humans, or females.

Whatever the situation, he had never been clearly, obviously attracted to you, and you had been negligibly content to leave it at that, too...

Until Good Luck Chuck.

It had been an erroneous rental on your part. None of the advertisements had warned you of the sheer graphicness of the film when you had been flicking through Netflix, and it was only when you were already twenty minutes in, and walking back into the living room with a bowl of popcorn, that you realized exactly what you had ordered.

Error hadn't show up that day, or the day before, away on “business”. You didn't expect him that night, either, and after a few horrified, almost guilty minutes of watching televised sex from the doorway of the kitchen, you slowly made your way over to sit in front of the television, flushed and toying with the idea of sneaking in some intimate time.

It had been awhile since you'd had the evening to yourself, and still felt in the right mood for messing around. It was rare that you were alone anymore, and though you were thankful for the company... that company was attractive to you, and occasionally, you needed some release.

You had always felt filthy thinking of him like you did. You had been sure he'd be offended by you getting off on lewd thoughts of him (if he didn't outright kill you), but you'd never managed to be ashamed enough to stop... not until he caught you literally with your pants down, watching what equated to porn.

You weren't sure what had been worse, when you'd caught sight of him in the doorway you'd stood frozen in around an hour before yourself... the fact that you had been in the middle of orgasm, that you had been chanting his name like a mantra, or that he had clearly been watching for some time, given the amount of sweat on his skull and the absence of the tears in time-space that he used as portals.

You'd covered yourself with the knobbly, poorly knitted blanket you'd made with his help (it smelled like him, like lightning and dust and the dry, hot, electrical scent of computers when they've been running too long), turned off the tv, and lowered your eyes. Your words had frozen in your throat, tears clouding your eyes and fear filling your heart.

Your hadn't been able to speak to excuse yourself. You hadn't been able to move. The air had been still and cold and tense.

You had been able hear the static crackling through his bones from across the room.

He had stalled in the kitchen doorway for what felt like an eternity before rounding the couch. His steps had sounded like thunder in the silence, his breath nonexistent. You had flinched when his shoes came into view in front of you, bringing him only a foot from where you sat.

One of his shoes had been untied, you remembered with crystal clarity.

One moment, you were sure the magic you could feel in the air, radiating off of him in waves, was going to choke the life from you... and the next, he was knelt in front of you, clutching your blanket covered knees tightly.

He had looked like a monster starved, a strand of blue saliva trailing from his parted jaw and his breath short and gasping. The tip of an equally blue tongue, long and tapering, traced the inside of his yellowed, impossibly sharp teeth, and his sockets, scarlet and flaming with his glitching, ever changing magic, had stared up into your eyes with more heat and longing and desperation than you had ever been looked at with before.

His voice had been haggard and raw when he spoke his simple, singular command, tinged with a lust that shook you to your core.

“ _ **again**_.”

You hadn't been sure what he wanted, frozen and stunned by his closeness, by the animal you saw in his intent visage, and he had quickly grown impatient, grunting needily and glaring up at you.

“are you ddd-deaf, w0man? ag41n. _**more**_ **.** _...pleas3._ ”

You had been slow to act on his snappish order, flushed redder than you ever had been before and nervous beyond compare, but slowly, the blanket slipped from your body, from the shirt still rolled up over your breasts and the panties only shimmied halfway down your thighs.

He had watched greedily, drinking you in rapturously and trailing his fingers over your calves. He had muttered for you to spread your legs for him, to show him how you truly felt... to show him how to please you.

“never h4d a hu-hu-human... n0thing so soft-t-t b3fore...”

He hadn't touched you that night, beyond stroking your thighs with his fingertips and, once, trailing the tip of his gelatinous tongue over your soaked fingers, after you had cum for him four more times. 

He had only watched, and muttered orders, and drove you crazier than you'd ever been before.

He hadn't touched you the time after, either, the night after your embarrassment when he shooed you into bed early and talked another three orgasms out of you (not that you minded... his voice in your ears and his gaze on your hands was incredibly erotic), nor the time after, two days later during your lunch break.

The time after, though...

Honestly, he was pretty terrible. Bare bones hurt if you aren't careful, female orgasm isn't always the easiest to achieve, especially when unpracticed, and magic can get too hot in all the wrong places.

Obviously, his frustrating failure at attempting to pleasure you didn't encourage him (in fact, he didn't come visiting for nearly a week afterwards, embarrassed beyond belief), but when he did return, you had an alternative prepared for him and the intriguing, impossible tongue he possessed.

Oral sex worked much, much better for him than fingering.

Thankfully, and surprisingly, reciprocation was also easy. While he tentatively touched your body and drove his sinuous, magical tongue into your core, you had seen him groping at the front of his shorts, a familiar motion that you had seen in your other lovers, but thought impossible for him.

He was a skeleton, after all. How could he have reproductive organs?

He was more than capable, though (“mag1c, d-d-duh. do allallall your skeletons h4v3 tongues? cuz you never-er-er questioned th4t.”), and, though you fretted about his hesitance concerning contact, he assured you that he could handle it.

“Handling it” happened to be letting you suck his cock with his sockets closed and his hands fisted in your bed comforter, but he staunchly refused to admit he was uncomfortable when you asked, and requested it on a regular basis.

Sex itself was an odd affair once you reached that point with him, though you had long grown used to his particular brand. His ability to handle contact with you was limited, his mental and physical stability lessening more and more the longer he was being intimate with you, and often restricted him to only three or four minute sessions, lest he start devolving into incoherent speech, far more frequent glitching, and chancing a complete blackout, a total loss of function and consciousness from his body that you had only seen him experience once before, in the depth of his disability at the beginning of your acquaintance.

You liked him suffering those even less than he did, so you didn't mind restricting your intimacy. You have suggested perhaps not even having sex at all, once, concerned for his mental health, but he had put the idea aside very quickly.

You'd have laughed if he hadn't backed up his denial by binding you to your mattress with his soul strings and fucking you breathless.

His inability to handle much contact didn't hamper your pleasure in the least. You had both found ways to enjoy each other... and it would be a lie to say that you didn't relish the buildup, the drag of his fingers, light but insistent, when he was in the mood, the sultry roll his voice adopted...

The glint of hunger and passion his crazed, scarlet sockets shone with when he looked on you, the same glint that flashed in his gaze that night as he stepped from the space between and into your bedroom.

He was riled, you could tell. He had been gone a few days this time, nearly a week; longer than you'd been apart in quite some time. Your chest always ached when he was away longer than a one or two days, but it wasn't the state of your soul that you were concerned with.

It was the pulsing of your blood in your veins, the fading of sleep and the building of lust, the weight and need in the magic that filled the air of your small bedroom.

You could  _ feel _ how badly he needed you, and his need flooded your entire body with desire.

You didn't bother with a greeting, only kicking aside the covers on your bed and peeling gracelessly at the overlarge t-shirt you slept in. He said nothing either, closing the portal he had exited with a snap of his fingers before hurriedly shedding his own clothes, his baggy zip up hoodie and sweater hitting the floor with wild abandon.

You knew what was coming the instant his sockets flashed with magic, accustomed to your accommodations of his needs, and laid back on the mattress the moment you had divested yourself of your panties, stretching your hands over your head and biting your lower lip.

The turquoise soul strings wound around your wrists the next moment, digging in just the right amount, and you shuttered your eyelids, moaning and meeting Error's burning gaze.

“I missed you...” you whimpered beneath your breath, your chest rising and falling erratically in your excitement, and his grin, already eccentric and broad, widened crookedly, his thumbs hooking into the waistband of his shorts.

“i kn0w. missed ya to0,” he grunted, kicking off his shorts and shoes in one motion, and mounted the bed in the next, his gaze leaving yours and moving to your body. Even in the darkness, he could see the curve of your form, the rise and fall of your chest and the lines of your spread thighs, and hummed under his breath at the sight, the magic glowing brightly within his ribcage pulsing and rushing to manifest between his legs.

One of his hands trailed over your breasts, your ribcage, your abdomen in a moment of stillness, light as air and leaving you nearly breathless; the other slid up the underside of your thigh, spreading you for him.

He gave little warning before he slid into you, only his wandering hand finding its place behind your other knee and his gaze returning to yours; you knew it was coming, though, what he needed (what you  _ both  _ needed, to be frank), and were more than prepared when, without another word, the thick, dark blue length of him spread your folds, sinking deep within your core in a single, forceful thrust.

You both gasped as he bottomed out within you, the throb of your equal, yet unsatiated desire singing through your blood and his magic and the connection that bound you both across space and time, and as he bent across your prostrated form, his nasal ridge brushing your nose and your breasts pressing to his thick ribs, he pushed a lingering, needy kiss to your parted lips, a rarity that spoke of far more than anything he would ever say.

He had really,  _ really _ missed you.

His kiss was the last soft moment between the two of you in your lover's embrace. He, immediately afterwards, pulled back from your lips, tightened his grip, pushed your thighs as far back as they would go, and pistoned the thickness of his cock within you as quickly as he was able, gritting his teeth and working himself into a frenzy to achieve his end.

His fervor was necessary, his hands already shaking and his shuttered sockets flashing with errors from just this little contact, but you were ready for him and his pace, and arched into him as much as he would allow, spreading your legs wide and keening in helpless, overstimulated pleasure as he only slid deeper within you, calling his name and pulling at your restraints and giving over entirely to the moment, to the feeling of him and the knowledge of how much it cost him to be with you like this, how much it meant for him to give this to you nevertheless.

He claimed not to mind the danger to himself, that it was worth the feeling and the connection, and you believed him. 

It didn't make the sacrifice less.

Error's hands were claws on the backs of your thighs as he drove himself to his limit, as he spent every ounce of energy he had to bring you both to your explosive ends, and extended in the air, your legs quaked in time with his jarring, earth shattering vigor, choking on the thick air between you and clenching your fists in your bonds.

Impossibly, you felt the coil of your orgasm as he labored over your bent form, as he strove to reach your mutual release (he had gotten so good at getting you off quickly...), but before you could reach your peak you felt his control shatter, a glitching, broken howl of lust and victory breaking from the sweating, panting skeleton monster's very bones as he seized in absolute rapture.

He emptied himself within you, spilling cool, electric blue magic into your core with three exquisitely deep thrusts, before throwing himself off of you in a rush, sliding from between your thighs with a lewd slurp and collapsing to his knees.

He knew you weren't done, though, could feel your completion hanging in balance just as keenly as you had felt his, and, haggardly, extended a quivering hand to your cum spattered entrance, sliding two phalanges into your folds and grinding his palm against your swollen clit.

It spoke to how well he knew your body now, how close you had become, that within mere seconds he had you orgasming, putty in his hands as you screamed your release to the dark, shadow dancing ceiling above your arched form.

He freed you from your bonds as soon as you had settled back onto the mattress, his midnight black clavicles rising and falling as he panted for air; you were in much the same state, your eyes wide and your breasts heaving and your abdomen aching.

It had been too long. You would need to acclimate to him again...

And as he collapsed beside you on the top of the bed, your fingertips touching but your gazes locked with an intimacy that reached far beyond what simple contact could bear, you honestly couldn't find yourself having a problem with that.

The scarred bite mark marring the skin of your shoulder testified to that much.

 


	29. Noisy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gaster likes to hear you scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Especially if it's his favorite pet name.

Gaster

* * *

Gaster was a monster of curious persuasion. To the outside observer, he would appear as the quiet, intense intellectual, lost to his own world of science and discovery. Even his friends knew little about him, beyond his egregious consumption of coffee and his rabid interest in Pinterest boards concerning cupcake recipes. His family knew better, his sons perfectly aware of his sometimes harebrained antics and his forgetfulness and his terrible sense of propriety, but even they didn’t know his greatest secret, his hidden fantasies.

But you did.

You never would have thought it of the proper, extremely intelligent monster, before finding yourself the center of his attentions and, coincidentally, the center of his bed.

Being a personal accounts CPA often put you in your clients' homes, more than you liked, honestly, but you'd always liked sitting at the tall, easily distracted skeleton's dining room table with him, putting his books together and getting his monthly finances in order.

Perhaps it was the quiet sanctity of his home, clean and peaceful and airy, or perhaps it was the fun you always had with translating the extremely large amounts of gold Gaster owned into dollar amounts. You put it largely up to the calming presence of the monster himself, honestly... and partially to the attraction you had slowly come to have for him.

He was quite the suave one, when he tried to be and wasn't caught up in the work he was constantly bringing home for himself (he'd caused explosions to go off in his kitchen while you were present far more often that you could explain), and the way he spoke... the way he carried himself, and how he sometimes looked at you through his impossibly lit sockets...

You had tried so hard to be professional, you really had.

You'd even told him as much, that you were considering transferring his account handling to another bookkeeper so as to keep things that way, had admitted to feeling for him and that you worried you weren't doing your job the way it should be.

He had surprised you with a staunch refusal, though, and an insistence that he highly encouraged your interest.

“I have been feeling similarly... unprofessional. It seems only natural that we explore that.”

You had wondered if skeleton monsters could have sex before that, curious and intrigued at the prospects. He answered that question for you more than adequately, right on top of all the paperwork you'd been looking over.

Your weekly meetings had become a focal point of your life. You would work on the books in peace for a time, listening intently to Gaster's newest experiment ideas... and then his hand would trail along the length of your thigh, sending shivers down your spine and answering the call that had been building between the both of you since the moment you stepped in the door.

It took incredibly little coaxing to, more often than not, have you bent over the edge of the table with your panties around your heels, your cries of rapture bouncing off the walls of the large, elegant room while Gaster assuaged his lust within you. It had been awhile for the both of you, once you started your deviances, and for nearly two months it was all you could do to keep from rutting the workday away, any way you could.

Soon, though, your monster partner's preferences began to show through. Soon, you got an idea of just what sort of things he wanted... and finding yourself a submissive in the equation wasn't exactly off putting.

He wasn't into hard dominance, thank the lord (you weren't much of a BDSM enthusiast, it had never really appealed to you, giving up all of your control entirely), but he did like to take the lead, did like to direct you in your pleasure...

And loved, so much that his bones had audibly rattled the first time, being called daddy.

Your play almost singularly centered around that pivotal point, after your mutual discovery; apparently, he had been as surprised as you at finding his liking for the term, and couldn't get enough of it, or you.

You certainly didn't mind, if anything could be told from the frequency of your interludes... and your position in Gaster's lap, legs thrown over his arms and hands dug into the shoulders of his lab coat. He had taken a moment away from his work to come “check on you”, teasing you with kisses to the back of your neck and murmurs of how he had missed you in the last few days, and after a few minutes of that you just hadn't been able to take it.

You couldn't summon enough decency to be ashamed of how you had jumped him, kissing up his thick cervical vertebrae and sliding your leg up the side of his indicatively, wantonly, in your need, all but begging for what you _knew_ he wanted as well.

And god damn, was he giving it to you.

“Louder, precious girl... daddy wants to hear you scream...” the silk soft voice of your monster lover purred against your throat, his deep violet tongue, sparking with magic, crawling up your neck to tease at the lobe of your ear, and you obeyed with reckless abandon, your back arching and your voice climbing in ecstasy.

Your breasts, unconstrained and bare above your pushed down bra and half unbuttoned blouse, jolted with each upward pound of his hips, his hands groping at your ass as he supported your weight almost effortlessly (he was surprisingly strong, for a scientist... you suspected more magic than just his tongue and delicious cock was at work here).

“Yes! Oh god, daddy, _please_...” you begged, throwing your head back and choking on your breath as a particularly deep thrust brushed your clit against his pelvic arch through the parted zipper on his pants, and Gaster, purple magic surging in his sockets, smirked gently up at you, glorying in the view he had of you undulating in his lap.

“Please what, angel? Tell me what you desire,” he prompted softly, bending forward to run the tip of his sinuous tongue over your proffered breasts, and your keens of desire only pitched higher, grinding as far down on his cock as you could go.

“I... I want... more... _harder_...” you gasped, whimpering and moaning in time with his slow, steady pace beneath you, and the skeleton monster, humming within his hollow chest, glanced up at you with assured superiority, hands spreading your ass further to allow him deeper within your core.

“And you'll have it. Don't worry, my darling... daddy will take care of you,” he murmured, stroking your thighs with the pads of his thumbs, before lifting you into his arms entirely and standing, the abrupt motion sinking you further onto his length and sending a shocked, titillated gasp rushing from your lips.

You looked up at him, breathless and intrigued, but he said nothing to explain himself, only smiling softly before, so smoothly it seemed almost fluid, he rocked you back and forth in his grip right where he stood, allowing gravity to push you down onto his cock as he thrust against you.

You had never been in this position before. None of your former lovers had been this clever and explorative, and the new angle he was able to reach, the force of your own weight taking you pelvis deep on his dick with each thrust, was sending sparks of incredible pleasure across your gaze, capable only of the cries of ever increasing passion that he encouraged with each stroke of his hand, the kisses he pressed to your throat, your shoulders, your parted lips.

Your breath mixed with his, heady and sweet and rich with his magic, and it was on the crest of discovery and mind numbing ardor that you both tipped over the edge, violet magic filling you to the brim and your core milking your lovers length desperately.

It was going to be murder finishing the books with your mind on your messy, dripping folds, but Gaster's care of you following your wind down, his loving, thankful kisses to your knuckles and cheeks as he helped you clean up and redo your closes, took your mind far from the work yet to be done, blushing and leaning, for as long a moment as he had before he had to return to his work, against his front, hands doting and gentle on your back and threading through your mussed hair.

“Thank you daddy...” you muttered against his sweater, nestling against his rib cage, and he chuckled, rubbing between your shoulder blades one more time before shooing you back to your chair, clearly pleased and relaxed.

“You are very welcome, dear one. Now... we both have work to do before we take any more breaks. Rest your legs,” he hummed, straightening his belt buckle absentmindedly, before he turned on his heel and strode off into the hallway, returning to his lab and the work he loved.

You sighed as you watched him go, foggy from your orgasm and admiring the length of his stride, before turning back to your papers, trying to find your place among the statements and receipts...

And just above the rumble of the air conditioner and the drone of far off traffic, you heard a passing conversation. 

“was that really necessary. i was _one room_ away.”

“Judge not, Sans, lest ye be judged in turn.”

“judge me all you want, pops, i get up to some freaky stuff and i know it. but i have _nothing_ on you.”

“I suppose the apple doesn't fall far.”

“...you're like a fortune cookie. can we just get back to work? _please_? i don't wanna think about this anymore.”

 


	30. Corset

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> G knows what you're up to, you know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Tumblr, for sneak peeks, skele sins, extra content, and other shenanigans.  
> http://thebananafrappe.tumblr.com/
> 
> My fanart blog, showing off all the gorgeous pieces that you, the wonderful readers, have shown me.  
> http://fanartcenteral.tumblr.com/

*G Sans*

* * *

The ice in your cup clinked against the glass as it slid down the bar in front of you, expertly coming to a stop just beside your hand. The liquid within barely moved, the product of a practiced motion, and you sent the bartender an impressed look through the mask you wore, painted lips quirked.

“Nicely done, good sir.”

The masked monster, teeth bared in a skeletal smirk and sockets flared with golden magic, sent you a silent nod in return, replacing the bottle of alcohol he had used to make your drink to the rack of shelves behind the bar and turning to scrub his hand towel over the top of the counter idly.

You picked up the drink he had slid you and took a sip, draping one leg over the other and bouncing your heeled foot in time with the music on the nearly deserted dance floor. A man further down the bar tried to catch your eye with a smile and a wink, but you had no attention to pay him, your narrowed gaze on the tall, broad shouldered monster shining his counter.

He looked especially handsome tonight, his dark grey button up shirt's sleeves rolled up over his forearms and the top two buttons undone. The chain of a pair of dogtags peeked through the opening, and clacked against the bone of his exposed clavicles with his repetitive motion.

He hummed a tune that opposed the music in the sparsely attended bar (to be fair, it was nearly two in the morning on a Sunday night; you had made good on his offer of last call just a few moments ago), and his mask, a pale silver affair, looked particularly striking against the ivory of his skull.

You'd finished your time on the stage a few minutes ago, part of the closing entertainment for Halloween, and around the bar the wait staff was already cleaning up the mess from the costume party, trashing discarded masks and plastic spider rings and the occasional high heeled shoe that a drunken lady left behind in a hurry to get home.

The musicians on the stage were cleaning and closing up their instrument cases, the bouncers were letting all the remaining patrons know that it was closing time soon, and G, at his station behind his bar, was straightening his wine glasses professionally, all too ready for the ride home.

You had other ideas in mind for the skeleton monster, though.

“So, G. What did you think of that guy's pirate costume? I thought Johnny Depp went out of style about seven years ago.”

The skeletal bartender, a monster of few words, shrugged one shoulder, sending you an amused glance through the mirror behind the alcohol shelving.

“I was under the same impression. I have to admit that I was more distracted by the parrot lady, though. I thought I was going to run out of oyster crackers.”

You laughed at that, snickering into your whiskey sour and swinging your foot beneath the counter top.

“At least they tipped well, even if they called it “spreading the booty around”, hehe. Good haul tonight for everyone.”

G nodded, carefully pushing another wine glass into place, before turning to lean on the bar next to you, sockets lidded and mouth quirked. The man that had been sneaking hopeful looks your way at the end of the bar huffed at that, and got up to unsteadily head for the coat check.

G watched him go with a snort, unimpressed.

“The tips were great, I might get to take a few days off. …and I'll walk you out through the back tonight, sparrow. I don't like how that guy was lingering.”

You had watched the man stagger away as well, but glanced at G gratefully from the corner of your eye, reaching out to touch the tips of your fingers to his wrist. A blush dusted your cheeks at the pet name, but you made no mention of it.

“Thanks for always looking out for me, G.”

He hummed, allowing your touch to linger for another moment before pulling away and returning to his cleaning. You sat at your place at the bar for as long as it took to polish off your drink, then skipped off to the long empty changing rooms to get back into your street clothes, prepared for a good long sleep.

But as you attempted to reach for the ties on the back of your gypsy styled bodice, you realized you had a bit of a situation.

You couldn't reach them yourself. You'd had to have one of the dancers tie them up for you earlier this evening just to put the damn thing on.

Sighing, you wended your way back to the bar floor on stocking feet, looking around warily for any straggling customers. Only Boris, a bear monster that guarded the front doors, was still lingering, shrugging into his coat and tipping his hat to you. You waved as he headed for the side entrance, his keys jingling, before you slunk around the edge of the bar to the store room where you could hear G washing some dishes.

Peeking around the corner, you sent the skeletal monster an apologetic look, garnering his attention immediately.

“G... could I get you to help me out with these ties? Amelia did them up too tight again.”

Mask now shed and hands dripping with dishwater, G rolled the golden irises in his sockets before wiping his palms on the towel hung from his belt and following you back to the edge of the bar, motioning for you to turn so he could help you.

“You should know better than to ask her by now, sparrow. This happens every time...”

You shrugged your shoulders and raised your hands as his phalanges, lithe and dexterous, picked at the knot on the ties, heat from him leeching through the thin, mostly see through fabric of your costume from his closeness.

You could have asked one of the other girls, sure. But they wouldn't have put you in this situation, would they? They wouldn't have gotten you alone with your favorite skeleton, his capable, rough hands on your body and his breath on the back of your neck and his voice in your ears-

“I might start to think you're doing it on purpose.”

You blushed as his bony lips brushed the nape of your neck, his fingers pulling at the laces of your cheap corset loosening the fabric and letting it droop on your shoulders. His hands moved to prop on your hips, shifting the elastic of the gauzy skirt there as his mouth moved to your bared shoulder.

You had hoped he was in the mood tonight.

Your relationship with the handsome, charismatic, if quiet monster was still very much up in the air, no name put to it nor desired from either of you. You had a nice friendship, one of casual ease, but also had sex on the on and off, usually in the little flat he rented from the owner above the bar.

It was good, and easy, and hot as hell when you could entice him into behavior like this.

From the corner of your eye, you could see his shuttered, golden gaze looking to yours, and you met it with flirtatious coquettishness, smiling suggestively.

“And if I am?”

He chuckled, a rumbling, deep sound that sent shivers through your whole body, and pulled you against him slowly, nuzzling at your neck and pushing the flimsy skirt from your hips to puddle at your feet. His long fingers traced up the length of your stockings in its wake, the striped fabric showing through the holes in his hands.

Trails of wetness followed their path from his dishwashing, but you didn't mind. You were more focused on the appearance of his tongue, and the way it swept along your flesh.

“I might have to do something about it, if you were. Perhaps insist you stop wearing clothes with laces on them... or just wear nothing at all, and skip the middle man.”

He punctuated his statement by pulling your loosened top down to join the skirt at your feet, leaving you bare but for your tights and panties, and you kicked them away with a whimper of need and desire on your tongue, arching back against him and covering his explorative hands with yours, moaning quietly as they dug into your skin, squeezing and feeling your exquisite softness against his bones.

You let out a breathy sigh when one of his hands raised, tracing over your abdomen to cup a breast, and tilted your head back against his shoulder, eyes lidded and lips parted invitingly. You directed his other hand between your legs, bold and lost to the sing of the alcohol in your veins and the magic hanging thick in the air between you.

“Nothing sounds fair... but I suspect neither of us would get much work done.”

He hummed in agreement, obeying your indicative motion and stroking your soaked folds with two fingers through your panties, before bending to press his bony lips to your soft, violet pair, stealing your impassioned breath of ecstasy and ardor.

He slipped his tongue past your lips to dance with yours, swaying in place with you for a moment of quiet passion, before pulling back to allow you to breathe.

“Indeed not. But I find myself in that position a lot, sparrow... especially when you sing.”

You flushed, flattered and high on the taste of his magic, and turned in his arms to throw yours around his neck, standing on your tip toes to press your lips to his again in a flurry of small, desperate kisses, one leg rising to hook over his hipbone.

“G... G, please... take me now, I can't stand it anymore...”

He smiled against your quick, fluttering kisses, laughing quietly under his breath; one of his large hands descended to support your raised thigh, the other sliding under your posterior to pull you tight against his front, pressing the hardness of his interest in your joining against your abdomen.

“As you wish.”

His height proved useful as he lifted you to sit on the edge of the bar, urging you to lean back and support your weight on your arms while he slid your panties to the side and pushed the length of himself hilt deep in your core, your cry of pleasure long and warbling. He made few sounds of his own while he rolled his hips up into you, beyond quiet grunts and the occasional groan of your name, but you knew what he liked... what turned him on the most.

“Sing for me, sparrow. Let me hear the song of your soul.”

And so you never quieted yourself, not when cars drove by on the very near streetfront or when a drunk group of bar crawlers stumbled through the alley behind the bar... certainly not when your monster lover pushed you into three mind blowing orgasms, or when he reached his own, spilling thick golden magic into your eager mouth as you sucked him to completion.

He helped you up off the floor wearily, once you had had your fill of licking his pelvic arch teasingly (“Gahh... c'mon, let me catch my... hahh... _breath_... you're insatiable...”), and unbuttoned his shirt the rest of the way to drape it over your shoulders.

“We really have to stop doing this at work, sparrow. Grillby is going to have my head one day.”

You snorted as you admired his bare, scarred rib cage, playing with the tags around his neck and kissing a clavicle as you slipped your arms into his shirt, the item long enough to reach halfway down your thighs.

“Grillby wouldn't fire you for the world.”

G shrugged, smoothing a hand through your hair dotingly, but a snide, self assured smile overtook his mouth, crooked and knowing.

“Heh. Nah, probably not... plus, I like getting to undress you on the bar. I'll get to remember how your skin looks against the wood tomorrow.”

You giggled when he accompanied his claim with a squeeze to your ass, knocking your shoulder against his chest before bending and retrieving your Halloween costume from the floor, balling the material in your arms and sauntering off to the changing rooms with a flirtatious look thrown over your shoulder.

“Mmm... and maybe we can have a reprieve.”

He chuckled at that, watching you walk away with a fond smile and a shake of his head.

“No maybe about it.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading!


	31. Food Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans loves food. It's about time to see how much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Tumblr, for sneak peeks, skele sins, extra content, and other shenanigans.  
> http://thebananafrappe.tumblr.com/
> 
> My fanart blog, showing off all the fantastic pieces of fan art shown to me!  
> http://fanartcenteral.tumblr.com/

*Undertale Sans*

* * *

You’d always known that Sans had an intense, passionate love for food. He wasn’t a connoisseur. Don’t be ridiculous, have you met the monster? When he eats, he _eats_ , with relish and gusto and incredible enjoyment. No, Sans loved food in an almost physical, enamored fashion. He was almost always eating something, from snacks to take-out to just plain bubble gum.

He was lucky he was a monster and all of his food instantly became energy. Sometimes you wished you could eat like he did.

He explained the habit away as a sort of oral fixation, needing to have something in his mouth almost constantly to keep himself calm. You could believe that. He did get twitchy when he didn’t have something to munch on. And it wasn’t like it bothered you, nothing of the sort.

It made you consider… things, though. Things about where your newly found romantic connection to the clever skeleton monster could go.

You’d had plenty of sex at this point, as strange as finding out he could form magical appendages had been at the beginning. And you certainly weren’t bored, _stars_ , no. He had enough kinks to keep you busy for a few decades.

Your curiosity regarding his love of food, though, was pervasive and intent. And one day, you decided to take your admittedly reaching idea for a test drive.

Sans was certainly curious about your insistence that he wear a blindfold as you led him to your bedroom, but gave you the reins easily enough. He was a giving partner, though he was often the dominant one between the two of you (“hundred of years of practice, babe, that’s all. you’ll get the hang of it.”), and complied with your request for him to strip out of his shirt and sit up against the headboard of your bed with a humored smile about his bony lips.

“so what game is this we’re playing, hmm? i’m sure i’m _bound_ to find out sooner or later, but don’t keep me in _suspense_ too long.”

He waggled his surprisingly expressive brow bones, likely referring to your attempt at trying out bondage the previous weekend, and you huffed at him, clicking your tongue as you undressed as quietly as you could and brought over the tray you had prepared for tonight.

“Not even close, bub. Just hold still a minute, let me get everything ready for us.”

He felt you mount the bed beside him, the mattress dipping under your weight, and he turned his head towards you with a curious look, catching the scent of the tray you set in front of you on the bedspread.

“hey… that’s… did you get a new perfume or something? i didn’t know they made chocolate perfume.”

You giggled, dipping a finger into the bowl of melted chocolate on the tray to spread it on your lips.

“Believe it or not, they actually do. Cologne too. But that’s not what this is. Here… kiss me real quick, and I think you’ll figure out what we’re up to.”

He grinned widely, and leaned sideways to meet your lips with his, a hand rising to cup your cheek as he did. He froze the moment the warm wetness of the chocolate stuck to his teeth, though, and curiously activated his magic to summon his tongue.

The tip of the glowing blue appendage swept over his lower lip line and upper teeth, catching some of the chocolate, and a look of fervid understanding overtook his puzzlement a moment later, a bare flush of blue coloring his cheekbones.

“well damn, babe… definitely not what i was expecting. wouldn’t mind another taste, though…”

He had barely finished speaking before he was pulling you to him for another kiss, hand curled around the back of your neck and bony lips devouring yours, gelatinous, sparking tongue sweeping into your mouth to savor the chocolate on yours.

You were breathless and lightheaded when Sans pulled back, the hand not threaded into your hair following the length of your thigh. His empty chest rumbled happily, his smile crooked and excited.

“what else you got over there? i’m _starving.”_

You panted for a moment, flushed and excited by his response, before picking up a strawberry, holding it by its plucked top and dipping it in the chocolate. You trailed your free fingers along his jawline and down his cervical vertebrae lightly as you held the berry out to him, and he shivered in response, parting his teeth as soon as you pressed it to them.

You were surprised how sensual this was turning out to be, as you watched him take a bite and let out a muffled groan, dripping chocolate over his chin and onto two of his upper ribs. You smiled to yourself as you slotted the rest of the berry into his mouth before crawling over one of his legs to clean him up, licking long his jawline with tantalizing slowness.

The gasp he let out, and the way his hands jumped to your body, told you that he was liking this even more than you’d thought he would. Thank you, internet and your weird search history.

He more than gasped when you lowered your lips to lick his ribs clean, though, grunting almost savagely and jerking at the feeling of you smoothing the tip of your tongue along them. His hands clutched at you desperately, a trail of electric blue drool dripping down his mandible.

“gahh… baby, _stars_ … fuck, that’s good…”

You smiled against his bare bones, kissing the slightly damp surfaces before reaching for another berry, swirling it through the chocolate and holding it to his parted teeth once more.

“Ready for more, honey?”

You spent nearly fifteen minutes that way, feeding him fruit and licking his bones of dribbles, and by the time the tray was piled with nothing but leftover leaves, Sans was a sweaty, panting mess. You were more than bothered yourself, grinding yourself against the femur you were straddling and soaking through his shorts with your arousal and covered in drying streaks of leftover chocolate, especially on your breasts from where he had cleaned some extra drips off of you with his own tongue.

You could tell he was more than ready, so riled that he was literally trembling with need, but you weren’t done with him yet. With one last, lingering lick to his sternum, you reached behind you for the can of whipped cream sweating beside the mostly empty bowl of chocolate, shaking it before squeezing a little onto the end of his protruding tongue.

“Think you can make me a little something in your pants to decorate with this, baby?”

Sans, slurping the cream up and dropping his head back against the headboard with a bang, let out a long, whiny groan, thrusting his hips upwards eagerly.

“babe, i’ve had a hard on for almost twenty minutes. i got more than a little for you to work with.”

You grinned at his frankness, frustration and gruff desire layering his already deep voice into a near growl, and bent to undo the clasp on his shorts, parting the fabric to free him from within. The thick, azure length of him sprung to attention immediately, rigid and throbbing from all the foreplay you’d been inflicting on him.

You’d never seen him so hard… and he was only going to get more turned on if you had anything to say about it.

You grinned wickedly to yourself, shaking the whip cream again, before spraying a long, thick line up the length of his cock, giggling when he flinched at the temperature. You covered almost the whole visible surface of him with the confection, watching him squirm and listening to him groan, before you set the can aside and went to work on him, languidly licking the tip of his dick clean of not just cream, but a steady, beading flow of precum.

You’d never seen him so sensitive, nor heard him make the kind of noises that he did, as you licked his cock, his hands fisting in your hair and every bone in his body rattling. He tried to thrust into your mouth the moment that you went down on him, grunting under his breath and gritting his teeth, but you held him down by the hipbones and forced him to assume your pace, a teasing smile on your lips as you took your sweet time.

Now, Sans was almost renowned for his patience. He could watch paint dry without moving an inch. He would out wait the stars themselves if he could. But when you started to reach for the can of whipped cream again, the bearing within shaking against the sides, his legendary patience snapped.

The blindfold was ripped off and discarded on the floor, the can of cream knocked out of your hand and your tray tossed carelessly across the room. You were flat on your back the next second, your sweaty, practically snarling monster lover mounting your prostrated form, and laid his sticky ribs to your chest as he thrust against your soaked folds, your wrists in his hands and his bared teeth inches from your nose.

“think i’ve had enough of the meal. i’ll have my dessert now… and i know just what i want.”

He looked almost savage, hot breath wafting over your face, redolent of chocolate and strawberries, before he leaned down to push his mouth against your ear, haggard and rabid.

“think i’ll have myself a cream pie tonight.”

He was pelvis deep within you the next moment, and rutted your body like an animal in the achievement of his end, the roughest and neediest you’d ever seen him. You were more than prepared for his demanding pace, just as turned on as he had been, and clung to him deliriously, wailing and wrapping your ankles around his bent spine.

He didn’t last long, after your treatment of him, his rapid thrusts growing erratic and jerky only minutes later, but you didn’t think you could have lasted any longer yourself, shaking and crying out in your orgasm seconds before he came, with a growling, choked cry against your shoulder, within your clenching core, an inhuman amount of magic spilling within you and squeezing around his girthy cock.

He didn’t move from his position over you when he had finished, panting against your neck and smoothing his thumbs over the insides of your wrists. He didn’t seem to have the strength, and when you turned to push a kiss to his slightly parted, bony lips, you saw that his sockets were completely closed, his breath even and quiet.

He had fallen asleep on top of you, his dick still buried within you.

“Hilarious, Sans. Hilarious.”

He snickered in his sleep, and snoozed on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it my friends! Keep an eye out for Kinktober 2: Son of Kinktober, coming next month!


End file.
